A Time For Heroes
by Anisky
Summary: She had always been proper, collected. Hermione should have known she couldn’t keep it up, not when her life falls apart and all of Wizarding Britain are watching and taking pictures. But she's not sure she ever learned what it was to live. PenelopeHermio
1. Convergence and Divulgence

Title: A Time For Heroes

Author: Anisky

Disclaimer: Nothing from the Harry Potter universe is mine, it all belongs to J. K. Rowling and whatever publishers she uses.

Rating: R

Summary: She had always been proper. Collected. But Hermione should have known she couldn't keep it up, not when her life falls apart and all of Wizarding Britain are watching and taking pictures. The problem is, she's not sure she ever learned what it was to live. Post-Hogwarts, post-war, Hermione/Penelope.

Pairings: mainly Hermione/Penelope, with Harry/Ginny, Lavender/George, references to Hermione/Ginny and Penelope/Percy. Possibly others.

A/N: This is written for The HP Girlslash Springtime Seduction Challenge! Click the link to learn more! ;) Clearly, my pairing was Hermione/Penelope. I had intended a one-shot, but this formed in my head quickly and it's going to be a chaptered piece (obviously).

Thank you very much to my beta reader, Kelly!

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Chapter 1: Convergence and Divulgence

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Hermione was sitting at a small booth in a coffee shop just off Diagon Alley, and she was trying to do nothing more than sit there, minding her own business, trying to unwind after a stressful day.

If only everybody else in the coffee shop had similar plans.

She was a mess. She looked it and she felt it. Her normally neat black work robes were crumpled and tendrils of hair had escaped the bun tied tightly at the nape of her neck. Instead of framing her face charmingly, as they would on Ginny or Lavender or other women Hermione knew, the locks of hair flew all over the place, sticking out unpleasantly all over her head. Hermione scowled as she viewed herself on a mirror behind the counter, and irritably tried to press the uncooperative hairs back against her head. The moment she lifted her hand, it all sprang back into just the same shape.

Hermione sighed and tapped her fingers on the table, waiting for her waitress to come by with the coffee. She looked down at the table to avoid the mirror. She wished she could move so that she would not have to stare at it every time she looked up, but then she would be facing the street, and would be an easier target for the photographers.

Damn them.

She risked a quick glance behind her and was rewarded by the bright flash of a camera. She quickly turned around again, moaning and letting her head fall to the glass-topped table.

Her waitress came by just then. "Here you are, Hermione," she said kindly, placing the triple espresso down on the table by Hermione, who quickly lifted her head.

"Thank you," she said gratefully, taking the cup and taking a quick sip. "Why are you waiting tables, Lav?"

Lavender Brown smiled at her weary-looking customer. "I saw you out here," she confessed. "You look a little roughed-up, I wanted to know that you were okay."

Lavender was the owner of this coffee shop, and had enough famous friends to have created and enforced a strict policy of no photographers or reporters inside. Anybody could come in off-hours, of course, but the moment they took a picture or started grilling somebody who did not want to be interviewed, they were summarily thrown out and the Aurors were contacted.

This was the main reason that Hermione came here several times per week after work. Particularly today, when she neither wanted to go home to her empty flat nor have to deal with any reporters or eager gossips.

Hermione shook her head and pinched her temples, then took another sip of the coffee. "I'm… fine," she said eventually.

Lavender looked disbelieving.

Both of them were silent for a few moments, and Hermione knew that it was because Lavender was afraid of being an annoyance, but was also honestly worried for her friend. After several long moments, Lavender spoke.

"So how are you really?" she asked.

Hermione shrugged. "As well as can be expected," she said dully. "I really just need to be alone for a bit, I guess. Just… not alone at _home._"

If only she had complaints about _work_ to fall back on, Hermione reflected crabbily, it would be something. But no, not a single reprieve.

Lavender nodded sympathetically. "Okay then, I'll head on back. If you feel like talking, though…"

"I'll let you know," Hermione assured her. She tried to smooth her hair over again, but knew it wouldn't do any good. "I think I'm going to need another coffee, though."

Her friend looked unsure, but nodded and gave a last smile and turned, walking back into a room behind the counter.

Hermione sagged, grabbing her cup and taking another sip of the strong, bitter espresso. She did not add any sugar or cream as she usually might. She felt like drinking something very bitter. It fit her mood. Hell, she thought, it fit her _life_.

Hermione did not usually indulge in self-pity. It was pointless. It achieved nothing except to make one depressed. Time was much more productively spent doing something to make the situation better. Time, she felt very firmly, was not to be wasted.

Voldemort had been defeated, she and her two best friends had made it out alive, the Death Eaters were all either killed, in Azkaban, or in hiding, she was _alive_ and even had a good job that paid well and that she usually enjoyed.

_I'm not dead,_ she reminded herself. _I'm not trapped as a slave in an oppressive regime. Harry won. We won._

Yet sometimes it was really, really hard to keep things in perspective. And so Hermione sat there, draining her extremely bitter coffee, and feeling very sorry for herself.

She saw a shadow fall over her coffee cup, and looked up in displeasure, wondering who would be sitting across from her.

To her surprise, it was a stranger, with murky green eyes and long, light brown curly hair. Brown curly hair that, Hermione noted somewhat petulantly to herself, did not frizz out the way her own did, but instead stayed in tight tidy curls.

Upon second glance Hermione realized that this was not a stranger after all. The face was familiar. It was somebody she had seen at the Ministry, in her own department if she was not mistaken though not in her research group. Somebody with whom she had attended Hogwarts…

Finally something clicked and she managed to place a name to the face. Penelope! That was it. Penelope Clearwater. Percy had dated her at Hogwarts, once upon a time.

"Hello?" Hermione asked, somewhat ungraciously. After all, this woman had sat down uninvited across from somebody who clearly wanted to be left alone. Hermione did not feel a great inclination to be polite. Oh, sod it, she felt like screaming at Penelope to bloody go away, but she knew that creating a scene was one of the worst ideas possible right now. Not to mention that she simply did not have the energy.

"Hello," Penelope responded mildly. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but all of the other tables are taken."

Hermione looked around the room and found that to be true.

"Anyway," the woman across from her continued, "you looked lonely, and it's been a long time, Hermione. I thought we might catch up."

Now Hermione stared incredulously. While it was entirely possible that she looked lonely, she could not believe that it was possible to miss that she was in no mood to be disturbed. And what in gods' names did Penelope mean by a 'long time'? A long time since _what_? _Catch up_ on what, for that matter? They had never been friends. Hermione could not even remember ever having spoken to the woman across from her.

She was the cordial, the well mannered, the _proper _Miss Granger. She was the one whom Minister Scrimgeour had practically begged to work directly with him as a public relations liaison (though she had refused in favor of sequestering herself off with other single-minded intellectuals to conduct research). She was the one who, after four straight hours of fighting, panting in exhaustion with a large bruise already turning the better part of her right cheek purple, more gashes across her body than she could count, had put on the diplomatic face for reporters and dutifully fielded their questions while Ron and Harry were off hugging each other and screaming cheerful obscenities in victory and sheer relief.

Hermione sourly decided that she did not feel like being polite. Admittedly, it had been her saving grace in the past. When she had managed to maintain her dignity in the face of scandals before it had been impressive to see how easily the public could accept some outrageous things. Yet she knew that it would not save her now, so why bother?

There were no reporters within hearing distance—well, no obvious reporters, anyway—and really, could there be such harm in speaking her mind, just this once?

"Actually, I was rather enjoying my respite from nosiness and gossips," Hermione said aloud.

Well, she thought, it perhaps was not scathing the way, for instance, Severus Snape could be, but at least her comment was pointed. Maybe. She hoped.

Penelope simply nodded, lightly agreeable, and said perhaps a bit too cautiously, "Understood. I won't say a word, I promise."

Hermione refrained from giving a disbelieving snort. A few moments later felt a rush of regret that she had indeed refrained, but by then it was too late to change her mind.

What had happened to her? Hermione was not meek, she had no doubt of that, and she had always been somewhat straight-laced, but when had she begun to be so concerned with decorum and public face? She had not shied from speaking her mind as a teenager. She could still remember the fiery pride she'd felt when she stood up to Umbridge her fifth year.

On the other hand, she thought glumly, neither had she stood by Harry and insisted that Voldemort had risen.

Lavender came by with another coffee, this one a less forceful latte, and placed it on the table.

"Is this woman bothering you, Hermione?" She asked with a pointed look.

While it could certainly be argued that Penelope's presence encroaching on Hermione's personal space _was_ bothering her, she was pretty certain that the curly-haired woman was not a reporter. No matter how foul her mood, she could not bring herself to let a (somewhat) innocent bystander be hauled off by the Aurors simply for sitting down.

"No," she said. "It's fine. Penelope is… is a friend from work."

"Okay," Lavender sounded surprised. "What would you like, Penelope?"

"A cup of tea, please, and a blueberry scone."

Lavender wrote down the order and left. Hermione finished her espresso in one fast gulp, wincing at the taste. The action reminded her of quickly downing a shot of liquor, of the few episodes in which she had gotten absolutely plastered with Ron and Harry (and Ginny, but she didn't want to think about that just then). It had been a while. She knew that Ron and Harry got drunk a lot when she wasn't there, but she had never been much for inebriation, so they indulged with her rarely.

Tonight, Hermione decided, she was going to pick up a bottle of some kind of cheap, awful alcohol, and get horribly drunk, hangovers be damned. She had not taken a single sick day in the two years that she had been working with the Time Distortion Research Group, and only one in the previous three years working in the Department of Mysteries. She had only taken that one because she had been too ill to get out of bed.

She would not even have to fake her sickness, since she usually had quite terrible hangovers whenever she drank more than a glass of something. Right now she even rather fancied the idea of nausea—it would take her mind off of her life—though she knew that she would likely feel different in the morning whilst actually experiencing the result of her overindulgence.

One of the usual waitresses came over with Penelope's tea and scone. Hermione was surprised to realize that Penelope had been silent, as promised, but a quick glance up confirmed that she _was_ gazing at Hermione in interest and sympathy.

Hermione hated sympathy. She simply could not be angry with somebody for being_ sympathetic_, yet that person inevitably brought up topics she would just as soon avoid. Yet she couldn't respond in anger because after all, they only _cared _about her.

There wasn't any _reason _for Penelope to care about her, and now that Hermione remembered that she was not alone the silence became first awkward, then oppressive.

So, with a defeated sigh, she said in clipped tones, "I gather you've been reading the newspaper?"

Penelope raised her eyebrows, as though to say, 'What, are you talking to me?', but nevertheless answered in a genuinely apologetic tone. "I try not to listen to gossip, but I need to keep up with the news, and the front-page articles with large headlines are a bit hard to miss."

"Yes, I suppose they would be," Hermione murmured, cupping her mug and staring into her black coffee. She didn't mean to say anything else, yet she found more words coming out of her mouth: "Why can't they at least relegate me to a nice gossip column near the back, that only socialites will bother to read?"

"True heroes are rare," Penelope said softly. "You can't blame people for being fascinated."

"I can't blame people for invading my privacy and sprawling my personal business across the front page of the most widely-read newspaper in the country?" Despite the bitter words her voice was mild. It was habit not to get too riled up anymore, as she had discovered that the moment one shows emotion is usually the moment everybody else becomes interested in the drama and entirely forgets about the one. Hermione would not stand for being considered trivial. "Perhaps not, but I also can't help being resentful."

"Understandable," Penelope said.

Hermione took a sip of the sugarless, creamless coffee and let out something halfway between a laugh and a sob before she covered her mouth and took a moment to pull herself together. "It's a miracle that nothing has leaked about my job all these years," she said.

"Yes, well, there are some pretty heavy magical precautions against that," Penelope pointed out.

"If only I could get clearance to use those to protect my own secrets."

"You don't really want that, do you? If you could use those, anybody could—and think of some of the things that people could hide. Dark magic, criminal—"

"I know, Penelope," Hermione said tightly, trying to keep herself calm.

Penelope looked suitably abashed. "Sorry."

Hermione tried not to notice how much Penelope's earnest explanation mirrored her own responses in similar situations, but failed.

"_Bloody hell, don't you ever give it a rest?"_

"_I'm only saying—"_

"_I know what you're saying, Hermione. I'm not two! Sometimes people like to bitch about things. I'm sorry, is that too vulgar for you? People complain, and we don't need to be corrected on every little detail in the middle of it!"_

"_I thought you would want to know why it works that way!" _

"_I know why! I was just angry! Everybody isn't always so cold and rational all the time like you are! Some people have _emotions_!" _

"_Ginny, that's not fair!" _

"_It's not supposed to be fair! That's the point!" _

Hermione gave herself a little shake and took a sip of her coffee to clear her head. She glanced over at Penelope, who was meekly picking at her scone.

Hermione hated it when people played with their food.

Ginny had done it all the time and it drove her bonkers. She would be making little faces with syrup in her oatmeal or volcanoes with mashed potatoes and Hermione simply had to look away in order to restrain herself from leaping across the table and forcing the other woman to just _eat_ the bloody food.

So why the hell did she _miss_ it now?

She sighed. "It's okay," she said. "I know you're right. It's just hard, when completel strangers are privy to things that most people can just take for granted are _private_, and I can't talk about the things that really interest me but don't have so much emotional baggage."

"Well," Penelope said timidly, "I can relate to the second bit, anyway."

"Yes." Another sip of the coffee. It was almost finished, but there were already the beginning twinges of a caffeine headache, so she should not have any more. Hermione's voice was quiet now, and held none of the previous constrained hostility. "Yes, I suppose you can."

"It's strange," Penelope continued after a moment, "because for me, when something terrible happens—when somebody who I love has died, or my heart has been broken—and people greet me, cheerfully smiling, it seems unthinkable that everyone I meet doesn't realize that the world has ended."

"I wouldn't know." But Hermione's voice wasn't angry, or bitter, it was simply wistful. "I became friends with Harry only a few months after I entered the wizarding world. At first it was mostly him, but most of what happened to him also happened to me, in a way, as he was my best friend. And my very first romantic encounter was chronicled by Rita Skeeter in the Daily Prophet."

Penelope nodded. "I remember."

Hermione drained the last of her coffee, then placed the mug firmly back on the table and abruptly changed the subject. "So," she said, "you said you wanted to catch up. What is happening in your life? The last thing I remember, you were dating Percy Weasley."

Penelope's eyes widened. "Wow," she said, stunned. "Wow. That was… so long ago."

Hermione murmured an agreement. "That it was."

"I haven't even spoken to Percy in years. We broke up a couple of years after we left Hogwarts. Over seven years ago, now." She paused. "Seven years. Wow," she repeated. "It's been more than nine years since I've been in Hogwarts."

"Just over five for me, and even that's a weird thought. Like it's impossible to believe that I've been gone from there for so long, like I was there yesterday, but at the same time it's like something from… a different lifetime."

"I can't imagine what it was like, for you," breathed Penelope, "facing He Who—I mean, Voldemort," she corrected herself with a blush, "every year, since you were eleven! Hogwarts seems distant for me, but you just lived under this—this _shadow _there."

"Well, everybody did," Hermione demurred.

"Nobody else felt the responsibility for protecting the world against it on their shoulders."

"Well." Hermione felt a blush creeping up on her. She had heard this before, but not from a person, not from somebody who felt real, and she felt surprisingly embarrassed. "As you said. It began almost the moment I entered Hogwarts. I'm Muggleborn, remember. It just all seemed to be part of this world for me."

"But it isn't anymore."

"I guess not." Hermione knew it, in her mind, but yet—

"It still feels like there's this darkness creeping up, doesn't it?" Penelope asked.

Yes. Exactly. "Yes," Hermione whispered emotionally. Then she recovered herself. "Well, I devote myself to my work."

"Then can't talk about it." There was a beat, and then: "If you ever want to tell me about what you're working on, I'd be fascinated."

Hermione unexpectedly found herself smiling for a moment. "I guess that is allowed, isn't it."

"We both have the clearance. I'm surprised Harry and Ron don't, actually. I'm sure if you spoke with the Minister he would lift the restrictions for Harry."

"Harry wouldn't be interested," Hermione said simply. That is, if she ever spoke to him again, which at the moment was less than assured.

"Oh." Penelope shifted uncomfortably. "That's why I like my job—it's nice to be surrounded by people at work who don't find your interests boring. Even in Ravenclaw, people cared about schoolwork, but my obsession with astronomy was pretty boring to everybody."

That cinched it; they could talk about work, and furthermore nobody was eavesdropping on their conversation (well, somebody might be, but that person would have to be too stupid to understand that hint). Otherwise, Penelope wouldn't have been able to mention astronomy in conjunction with her job.

"I'd have thought that Percy, at least, wouldn't be bored by it. He seemed to be pretty incapable of boredom."

Penelope shook her head and laughed. "No, actually, he wasn't interested at all. He could be a bit full of himself, really."

Hermione was not surprised in the slightest to hear that. "Still, considering how focused he could be on the most mind numbingly dull things…"

"A lot of people would find your work, or mine, incredibly dull," argued Penelope. "He just had his own interests, that's all. Some people are just fascinated by… cauldron bottoms." She and Hermione looked at each other for a moment, and simultaneously broke out into giggles. "Okay, maybe not. He was fascinated by his opportunities for career advancement."

Hermione realized in shock that she was actually somewhat enjoying herself. "So, it's been seven years. Any social life since then?"

Penelope wrinkled her nose. "Well, of course some," she said, "but it never really seems to work out."

Hermione gave a half smile and looked over to the mirror again. Her hair was still just as much in frizzy disarray as before, if not more so. Her clothing was still disheveled. Gods above, she missed Ginny.

She unexpectedly felt someone touch her, and she looked back to see that Penelope had placed her hand on Hermione's. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know it's no comfort now, but it gets easier. The pain goes away."

Hermione knew it intellectually, but sort like the way the rest of her couldn't quite believe that Voldemort was gone, it also couldn't quite believe that the pain would be. "How about the awkwardness?" She asked with a dark sort of humor.

Penelope squeezed Hermione's hand, then pulled her own away to give the other woman her space. "Admittedly, your situation is more fraught with, er… conflicts of interest… than any of mine."

Hermione could not quite keep a bleak look off of her face. "I don't think somebody could alienate me from all my friends more effectively if they planned it. My girlfriend, sister to one of my best friends, hell, member of the only family I have in this world—she leaves me for my other best friend. In one fell swoop, it is awkward for _absolutely everybody_."

Where was the calm, the collected Miss Hermione Granger now? One little push and she was spilling her guts to someone who was for all intent and purposes a stranger. Not to mention that she'd better start praying very hard to whatever gods might possibly exist that there weren't any reporters listening in on this conversation.

She was an atheist, she remembered. Damn.

"They love you," Penelope said. "It'll be okay. Have some faith in them."

"It would be a whole lot easier if I weren't in a bloody fishbowl." She wanted to speak her mind, well, now she was. Be careful what you wish for, they said.

(She wished for the pain to go away. Or for Ginny to come back. Or both.)

"Penelope," she said wearily as she pulled out a few sickles and set them down on the table to pay for her coffee, "I have decided to get completely, obscenely drunk tonight. I think I could do with some company. Would you like to join me?"

Penelope grinned, finishing up her coffee and leaving half of the scone lying on her plate as she reached into her own pocket to throw some silver coins onto the table. "Now _that _sounds like a marvelous idea."

"Brilliant."

Hermione had almost managed to forget about the photographers. Incredibly, a couple of them had stationed themselves outside of the café the entire time and began snapping pictures the moment she turned around.

"Ah, Penelope," she began.

"Penny, please," the woman insisted with a smile.

"Penny, then," she said out of the corner of her mouth, "would you mind going to the liquor store for me? I don't particularly want pictures of me cradling alcohol on the front page of tomorrow's Daily Prophet. I'll pay you back later. You can get to be through Floo, just say 'Hermione's Flat'."

"Not a problem," Penny agreed. "I'll catch up with you in an hour? I should stop by my flat first anyway."

"Great."

Hermione futilely ran her fingers over her hair to tidy it, brushed off her robe to make it look more presentable, and set her face in a pleasant but neutral expression. Then, with a quick grimace towards Penelope, she pushed the door opened and faced the flashing lights, refusing to look at them and firmly but mildly insisting, "No comment."


	2. Real Life

Title: A Time For Heroes

Author: Anisky

Disclaimer: Nothing from the Harry Potter universe is mine, it all belongs to J. K. Rowling and whatever publishers she uses.

Rating: R

A/N: Thanks very much to my beta reader, Kelly!

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Chapter 2: Real Life

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"Hello again," Penelope stepped out of the fireplace gripping a paper bag.

"Hi, Penny," Hermione greeted her. It was an hour later almost to the second, and Hermione felt a surge of appreciation for the display of punctuality.

_For goodness's sake,_ she berated herself, _stop being so uptight. Why do you care if someone is on time for a night of drinking? _

Ginny had very rarely been on time.

"What's all that?" Hermione asked, gesturing to the bag, which was much bigger than she had expected.

Penny grinned and set the bag down on the dining room table. "I didn't know what you wanted, so I decided to go with options," she said.

"Oh?"

The other woman pulled out a bottle of vodka, a bottle of whiskey, and a bottle of raspberry schnapps.

"The raspberry is great," Penny told her. "It's really strong, but goes down very, _very_ easily. So if you're looking to get completely pissed but aren't used to hard liquor, this is ideal."

Hermione wondered if she was really so transparent that it was obvious she hadn't had much experience with alcohol.

That worry, that she was obviously such a square, was dashed rather violently with the next words to leave Penelope's mouth.

"And," she said, "I also brought this." She pulled out a small plastic baggy and waved it around.

Hermione stared. "Penny, that's not--?"

"Marijuana? Yes, it is," she said primly, putting it back into her robes. "You seemed so bummed, I figured you could really use it."

"But—" The last time Hermione had really known of Penelope, she had been a prefect. She had dated Percy. No matter what else could be said about Percy (that he was a pompous arsehole, for instance), he was one of the most law-abiding people Hermione knew of. She had not expected Penelope to have illegal drugs. "What—I don't—"

Penelope understood the startled expression and uncomfortable stuttering easily enough. "Don't tell me you've never tried it."

Hermione shook her head numbly. "No." She felt oddly embarrassed, though she had no idea why she would feel embarrassed about not having used drugs. She had never felt the inclination; she had never understood why so many people found making themselves slow and stupid fun.

Of course, that's what alcohol would do anyway, but then she had to admit that the idea of also smoking pot seemed redundant.

"Oh, come on now," Penelope looked a little sheepish, and her words were a bit defensive, "it is illegal to administer anything to an Unspeakable that tests truthfulness, body makeup or alignment. It's impossible that we would get caught, and you never try it_ once_?"

"We get clearance because they _trust _us," she pointed out half-heartedly.

Penelope bit her lip. "And we aren't killing Muggles, torturing small animals, or doing anything at all to harm anyone, now are we?"

"I don't mind if you smoke it, but I'm not going to," Hermione said firmly.

The other woman nodded. "Of course," she said quickly. "I'm sorry. I really am. I didn't mean to cause any trouble. I know that Ron and Harry go out partying a fair bit—I'd just assumed you'd had some experience with that."

Hermione was not angry with Penny, but she did not like to think about Ron and Harry using drugs. She realized suddenly that despite her stolen childhood, she was still naïve about so much. It had never even occurred to her that her two best friends would use marijuana, but now that she really thought about it, she doubted that pot was the worst of what they used.

She wondered suddenly whether or not Ginny had ever used drugs.

"Oh," Penelope said, voice slightly too bright, reaching into the paper bag again, "I nearly forgot, I also brought a bottle of wine." She pulled out a Cabernet Sauvignon. "It's not really something to get drunk with, but I figured I'd get it just in case we decide we want it."

"Thank you, for all of this," Hermione said. "What do I owe you?"

Penelope waved her hands and scoffed. "Don't you dare worry about it. We've got the same job, remember?" she said. "I think we both know that neither of us are hurting for money."

That was true enough. Hurting for companionship, or loneliness, or from heartbreak, perhaps, but certainly not for gold.

Hermione realized suddenly that she had no idea what Penelope's story was. She was a very attractive woman, so why had she been alone at a café? Why had her night been so easily open? Hermione felt a flush of guilt as she realized that she had been so intent on her own problems that it had not even occurred to her that Penny might not have been free, why she even cared about Hermione's story. Was it simple curiosity, the same obsession that so many in the Wizarding World had with celebrities?

Hermione didn't think so, but she couldn't say why.

"Shall we get to it then?" Hermione opened up her cabinet to try to cover up her discomfort. She had no idea what the decorum was for this particular situation, or if there were any proper way to act at all. Surely there was a more elegant way of beginning their night of inebriation than simply saying 'Let's start now,' but for the life of her she did not know what.

She realized that she also did not have any shot glasses. She blushed, realizing how very childish she must seem. She wondered if Penelope would regret coming when she saw how inexperienced and unsure Hermione was in the arena of relaxing, of letting go.

She grabbed two small juice glasses, which were about three times the size of a shot glass. "Sorry," she said, turning around, "This is all I've got, I'm afraid."

"They'll do," Penny said lightly, accepting one of them and seeming much more at ease than Hermione was. "Shall we start with the raspberry schnapps? It really is delicious."

Hermione nodded, and Penny unscrewed the lid and filled each of them with what was probably a very generous amount of alcohol, but looked dwarfed by the juice glasses.

Hermione gripped hers and lifted it up. "To forgetting our problems for a night?" she asked.

"Sound like as good a toast as any," Penny agreed, clinking her glass against Hermione's. They both threw their heads back and drank the shots in one large gulp.

Penelope had been right, there was very little of the horrible burning Hermione remembered from the few times that she had taken shots before, yet the liquor still warmed her mouth and her stomach. The lingering raspberry flavor was very pleasant.

"Oh, that's nice," she exclaimed.

"Another?"

"Yes, please."

They took another shot, and the second was as pleasant as the first. Hermione rolled her shoulders, sure that she was beginning to feel the effects now. The nervousness from earlier was gone, replaced with relaxation.

Hermione smiled, enjoying the sensation of not feeling constantly anxious about saying the right words and doing the right things. She remembered that she'd always gotten very happy, giddy, whenever she had alcohol. It was probably just worry over impropriety that prevented Hermione from indulging more often.

"What are you thinking?" Penelope asked.

"Just how nice it is to feel relaxed," Hermione said. "I don't feel like that much."

Penny nodded. "Do you want more of the schnapps, or something else?"

"Why don't we try something else?" Hermione suggested. "Whatever you like."

"Okay." Penny grabbed the vodka, and unscrewed the cap, pouring the drinks again. "We're probably going to need a chaser for this one. What have you got?"

"What works well?" Hermione asked.

"Anything that isn't alcoholic and has some taste, really."

Hermione opened up her refrigerator and browsed the contents. "Diet Coke?" she suggested.

"It'd work, but juice would be better, if you have it," Penelope responded, following Hermione to the refrigerator to search it for something appropriate. "The bubbles can be a bit too harsh to make it effective. There, the apple juice, let's use that."

Hermione grabbed it and took two more juice glasses out of the cupboard. "Why don't we go over to the coach?" she suggested. "It'll be a lot more comfortable."

Penelope took the vodka and her two juice glasses, while Hermione took the other two glasses and the apple juice. They placed them down on the coffee table and leaned over above it. Penny poured the vodka while Hermione poured the apple juice. They each grabbed the glasses with the clear liquid.

"What shall we toast to this time?" asked Penelope.

What indeed? Hermione considered for a moment. "To living fast, dying young, and leaving a beautiful corpse," she declared, mostly because right now it was really the antithesis of her own life and philosophy. The middle one had been a looming probability for a long time, but now even that excitement had passed.

Penelope looked surprised, but echoed, "Living fast, dying young, leaving a beautiful corpse," right before she downed the shot, Hermione following her example quickly after.

This one did burn quite badly, and Hermione's eyes watered as she just barely managed to gulp everything down. She grabbed the apple juice and downed that as well. It did help, but she was still coughing.

"Oh!" Penny exclaimed suddenly, searching her way through her robes. "I nearly forgot. Here." She thrust a small vial filled with a murky dark green liquid into Hermione's hand.

"What is it?" she asked, feeling that she probably ought to know, but after three shots her mind was slightly muddled.

"Hangover potion, of course." Penny took out one for herself and took off the cap, drinking it down quickly and made a face at the taste. She poured more apple juice and drank that.

"Oh, no thank you," Hermione said softly, handing it back to the other woman.

"You've already taken one?"

Hermione shook her head and poured herself a generous shot, picking up the glass but not drinking it yet. "No, I don't take it."

Penelope stared openly. "Why ever not?"

Hermione shrugged, laughing a little as she answered. She knew that normally she would feel very silly, but with three shots under her belt, she found she didn't mind just chattering.

"I just feel guilty, I guess," she said breezily. "I feel like if I'm going to go crazy, indulge in wild, delirious debauchery," she mockingly lifted the glass in her hand, still full, "then I ought to suffer the consequences, yeah?"

"Hangovers aren't punishments for being bad, Hermione," Penny argued. "They're just biological reactions."

"How do you know it isn't punishment?" Hermione frowned at her glass as though it had offended her, and with a swift motion poured it all down her throat, coughing again and eyes tearing as she poured her chaser. When she could speak again, she continued seriously, though she had the strange feeling of not quite being able to keep up with her own thoughts as she spoke. "I just feel like, I should be punished, really. Feeling terrible the next day is a pretty fitting punishment for just throwing away my… my… responsibility. Just for pleasure. Fun."

"That's stupid." Penelope pushed the vial back into Hermione's hand. "Sorry, but it really, really is. Why the hell _shouldn't_ you have fun? It's not something to be punished for. Happiness isn't a crime."

Hermione stared numbly at the green vial. "I was happy with Ginny," she said. "I'm being punished for that. I'm trying to escape that punishment now."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" cried Penny. "People break up. Feeling pain isn't punishment for having felt happy during a relationship. Happiness is a _good thing_. People are supposed to feel it."

Hermione was not feeling giddy or excited like she had before when she had been drunk. "Maybe other people, but not me," she argued stupidly, trying to give the vial back to Penny, who refused.

"Take it!"

"No!"

Penelope threw up her hands in defeat and poured herself more vodka. "You are being unreasonable."

"I'm drunk. I'm allowed to be unreasonable."

Penny looked her up and down. "Are you really drunk already?"

"I guess. Four shots should do it. Not drunk enough, though."

Smirk. "No, you definitely aren't." Shot. Apple juice. Penelope didn't cough afterwards.

"I'm usually a happy drunk," Hermione pouted, staring at the clear bottle sitting on the table. It looked just like water. "It isn't fair."

"Have you ever already been so down before?"

"No," Hermione admitted. She sighed deeply. The room was spinning slightly, not much, but enough that she did not feel quite as though she were sitting still. "So, I hope that I didn't intrude on any important plans this evening?"

Penny smiled a sad little half smile. "No," she said. "Nothing."

"You never really told me where your life is now."

She shrugged. "What do you want to know?"

"I don't know! There aren't really any questions to ask without having…" Hermione trailed off, feeling foolish as she thought of a few questions. "Do you have a boyfriend? Or girlfriend?"

"Nope, neither."

"Recently broken up?"

Penelope shook her head.

"Why not? What's the deal?" Hermione realized belatedly how terrible that sounded, but it was already out, and at least she had an excuse.

Penelope looked morose. "No deal, just haven't met anyone." She played with the empty vial of hangover potion halfheartedly.

"But you're so pretty!" Hermione defended. "You must have _tons _of options."

"Thanks," Penny said. "That's sweet."

"No, it's true," Hermione persisted. "You're so pretty, and friendly."

"You're drunk," Penelope said flatly.

Hermione frowned, feeling bad that she had made the other woman so upset, especially when she had just meant to give a compliment. An honest compliment, at that! "That doesn't mean it's not true!"

They were silent then, and Hermione cursed herself once again for messing everything up. She had no clue what was wrong, or what to do about it. Where was her well-publicized brilliance now?

Where was _any_ of it now? Where was that vaunted Gryffindor bravery? She couldn't see any of it in herself. All she could see now was fear. Once the fate of the world was no longer at stake, she did not consider anything worth breaking the rules for. Not even to enjoy life.

She had known that Ginny hated it. She had known that Ginny wanted to be young, to get out and have fun, that she was feeling stifled. Yet Hermione had been too afraid, of getting caught, of losing control, of just letting go like a normal young person.

She had suspected that Ginny had been losing interest, had found her old crush on Harry creeping up again. Yet instead of facing the issue, of speaking to Ginny about it, she had hidden from it. She had ignored it, praying she was wrong, praying it would just go away. And they had all suffered for it. Harry and Ginny suffered for the guilt of their feelings while they tried to do the right thing by everybody. Hermione had suffered the months of constant fear, suspicion of her best friend, lying in bed next to Ginny, her stomach knotted up in anxiety. The denial.

If she had just faced everything when it had first come up, then maybe she wouldn't have been left with nothing now. Maybe she wouldn't be cut off from everyone she loved.

And it was all because she was such a _coward_.

She poured herself a fifth shot. A very generous fifth shot.

"You said, earlier, in the coffee shop, that there are few true heroes in this world," Hermione found herself saying after a long pause. She smirked sardonically and lifted the glass in a mock toast, then downed her shot, barely wincing at the burning this time. She picked up her apple juice and took a big gulp of that. "But they can look somewhere else. I'm no hero."

"You're wrong," Penelope told Hermione seriously, pouring herself some more vodka.

"Well, if I'm a hero," Hermione snorted, "then the rest of the world sure is pathetic." She considered a moment, then poured herself another shot as well. This was her sixth. She had never had this many drinks before, not in so short a time. She found she didn't care. "I'll drink to that."

Penny shrugged. "Hell, why not?" She clinked her glass against Hermione's, and they both tipped their heads back and downed the shots.

After the chaser, Hermione set her glass down and looked at it thoughtfully.

"What is it?" Penelope asked.

"I think," Hermione said slowly, "I think I'd like to try some of that pot, now."

"You sure?" Penelope asked before she pulled out the baggie and the rolling papers.

Hermione nodded. "Why not?" she said. "I'm alive."

It seemed like enough for the moment.

Penelope fumbled a bit with the baggie and papers—they had both had a lot by now—but to Hermione's surprise (though later she was not quite sure why she was surprised), instead of rolling it, she set them down and pointed her wand at them, proclaiming, "Coerceo siccus folia!" One of the papers sprang out and a stream of ground pot leaf emerged from the baggie, streaming into the paper, which neatly rolled itself up.

"Whoa," Hermione murmured, impressed despite herself.

Penelope looked up at her with a bewildered look. "You're alive?" she asked. "What did you mean by that?"

Hermione considered before she elaborated.

"I made it through the war. Anything now is…"

It was difficult just then, to explain what she meant, but she found she didn't care. Her thoughts were so whirled about that she couldn't quite grasp any of them, but it was nice, because her unhappiness was equally elusive, and so she could let it go. She just let herself speak and trusted that her meaning would come out.

"Anything new is a bonus. After all, I didn't spend my childhood fighting a monster just to be afraid to say _boo_ in case other people will care."

"Good attitude!" Penny approved. She put the marijuana supplies back into her robes, leaving only the joint.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is!" Hermione said, suddenly confident. "I fought an evil overlord and I'm around to tell the story. Often. To many reporters. But anyway, after that, nothing should seem like a big deal! My girlfriend left me—okay, so it feels bad, but in the grand scheme, I'm alive, I'm healthy, and I have over a hundred years left to live, probably! In the Muggle world, I wouldn't live a hundred years from birth to death! I have so much time and the ability to see and do _anything_."

"Well, this is certainly a change of heart from earlier," Penny said with a drunken laugh. "I guess your happy drunk is finally coming out." She put the joint in her mouth and lit the end with a quick "Incendio!" She inhaled deeply, then passed it to Hermione, who tried to do the same but began coughing terribly.

"Don't we have magical ways to… do this?" she asked when she stopped coughing.

"Who'd do the research? I mean, they can't watch us in our spare time, but at work we answer to people. This is magically… magically… changed, though, so much less will give you much more feeling. And it's sure to work the first time."

"Oh," was all Hermione could think to say. Then, with a laugh at herself, she pulled out her wand and cast "Contego!" to her chest.

"What was that? You just cast protection on your lungs!" Penelope exclaimed. "Clever."

Hermione grinned and waved for Penny to pass the joint. "Let it never be said that I can't function while drunk," she bubbled, though of course she had never been this drunk before so she was really just talking out of her arse. She inhaled the smoke deeply. It was rough, but the scent was surprisingly pleasing, and she could enjoy it now that her lungs were safe. "When will I feel it?"

She passed it back to Penelope.

"Pretty immediately, but you might be drunk enough that you just don't really notice. There'll be a difference, but… you may not notice, I guess."

"I can't believe I've never done this before," Hermione mused. "Everyone around me has, yet I stay so straight, so boring."

Penny giggled. "So _straight_?"

Hermione dissolved into giggles as well. "You know what I mean. I feel like I've just been letting life pass me by. Speaking of passing…"

Penelope gave her the joint. "I don't think not using drugs is letting life pass you by," she said. "I'm not proud of smoking pot and drinking. I don't think it's a _good _thing. Not a_ bad_ thing either. But you were with someone you loved for what, two and a half years? If I weren't so alone I can see myself never smoking."

Hermione breathed out smoke, and giggled again, because she felt like a dragon, blowing smoke out of her mouth. "Yeah, but all of my friends went out, partied… I don't think they even thought of inviting me. Or maybe they did and I said no and I just forget now. Maybe if I'd been more fun and gone partying with Ginny she wouldn't have…" She trailed off and took another hit from the joint before passing it back to Penelope.

"Don't think like that," Penelope warned her. "You can't know. You were just being yourself."

"No, I was being _scared_," Hermione contradicted her. "I knew that Ginny didn't want me anymore, had a crush on Harry. Or thought I knew. I was too terrified to talk about it. They tried to do the right thing. They _did_ the right thing. They loved each other. The right thing was to leave me."

"It's nothing wrong with you, Hermione, it just _happens_."

"I know. It's just… _life_. This is me experiencing life. In all its pain. Glory. Whatever. And you know what?"

"What?" Penelope took a last hit and passed it back to Hermione, though it was very short by now.

"It's better than being dead."

Maybe it was a mix of the alcohol and the marijuana, but that seemed terribly profound just then. And also terribly, terribly important. Suddenly everything that had happened seemed perfect, somehow. Not happy. But part of life, real life, that everybody was part of, something that happened to normal people. _Real_ people.

She knew it would still feel like her own personal hell tomorrow, but for now the flawed perfection of existence felt so meaningful it made her want to cry.

"Yeah, it is," Penelope agreed quietly.

"I feel like I'm made of clay," Hermione giggled. "Is that maybe the pot?"

"Yes, that's the pot," Penelope said dryly.

Hermione took a hit, then passed it back before it was too small to hold comfortably. Penelope quickly took some, then put out the light and stowed it in her robes, explaining that she didn't feel like dealing with the roach right then.

They just sat there, dazed and drunk and high, lost in thought, until Hermione ground out, barely able to contain her giggling: "Penny for your thoughts?"

"Oh, yes, I've never heard that before."

"Seriously, though."

"I was just thinking about taking things for granted."

"Oh?" Hermione shifted on the couch to get a better look at Penny, though right then everything looked so strange. She wondered if Penelope were really breathtakingly beautiful, or if it was just the drugs and alcohol.

"Yeah. I take privacy for granted, for instance. And you take people knowing who you are, being someone who matters, for granted. Not being invisible."

Hermione furrowed her forehead. "You matter. You're not invisible!"

"You barely remembered me when you saw me today," Penelope pointed out.

"But I did! And I liked you enough that even though I just wanted to be alone I liked talking to you and invited you over!"

"I'm sorry I bothered you."

"No!" Hermione cried. "Not at all! I wouldn't have invited you if I didn't want you over. It's much better for me, this way, not completely alone in this apartment. I'm glad you're here."

Penelope seemed to cheer up somewhat. "I'm glad I'm here, too."

"I can't imagine you being invisible," Hermione murmured, fingers reaching out seemingly without her permission and to gently stroke Penny's cheek, to make sure that the other woman was really there. "You're so beautiful."

Penny blushed, and Hermione pulled her hand back.

"You're not invisible to me."

"You've only known me for an evening."

A single evening. That's all it had been. It seemed so strange to Hermione. Then again, everything seemed strange right now. Something about the glasses, the bottles, the carpet, the sofa, the coffee table—yes, everything seemed strange, but it was in the sort of way that she saw everything through new eyes.

Something about Penelope's importance seemed more than just a drugged out delusion.

"And already you _matter_ to me," Hermione said.

Penelope smiled, and Hermione told herself sternly that she was _not_ going to kiss her. She was still brokenhearted, still in pain over Ginny's absence, over her inevitable rift with her best friends. This flat was filled with lingering memories of Ginny.

Hermione liked Penny, hoped she would be a friend, someone who she could talk about her research with. She _refused_ to just turn her into a rebound.

She was determined not to.

Somehow, when Penelope's lips descended on her own (or maybe hers descended on Penelope's, it was impossible to tell, and her memories of the night were never clear afterward), it felt like they were in a small bubble outside of the real world, where everything was safe and perfect, in the way that life's tragedies felt perfect.

It just felt too much like an affirmation of life, to be kissing Penelope right now, and Hermione had precious few of those for a hero who had saved a world from destruction. She could not find it within herself to turn her back on such bittersweet meaning.

-


	3. Incompleteness

Title: A Time For Heroes

Author: Anisky

Disclaimer: Nothing from the Harry Potter universe is mine, it all belongs to J. K. Rowling and whatever publishers she uses.

Rating: R

Summary: She had always been proper. Collected. But Hermione should have known couldn't keep it up, not when her life falls apart and all of Wizarding Britain are watching and taking pictures. The problem is, she's not sure she ever learned what it is to live. Post-Hogwarts, post-war, Hermione/Penelope.

A/N: Thank you to my beta reader, Kelly!

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Chapter 3: Incompleteness

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Hermione was lying alone in her bed the next morning when she awoke. The first thing she registered was a pounding headache, and the second was a wave of nausea. She groaned and rolled over, closing her eyes again. A moment later she dragged herself out of bed with a grimace and stumbled out of her bedroom into the living room.

She grabbed a handful of orange powder and flung it into her fireplace, carefully enunciating, "Ministry of Magic, Department of Mysteries, front office," before sticking her head inside. She found herself in the very familiar room, though admittedly she was not used to seeing it from the perspective of the fireplace.

A small, pretty secretary was seated at the desk, charming memos to fly to other departments. She looked up to see Hermione's head in the fireplace and smiled pleasantly.

"Hello, Miss Granger," she greeted.

"Hello, Liatris," Hermione said, "I'm sorry, could you please let Mr. Harris know that I won't be able to come in today? I'm ill."

Liatris nodded. "Sure, Miss Granger, I'll let him know. I hope you feel better!"

"Thank you," she managed before pulling her head out of the fireplace and running to the bathroom to vomit.

At least she'd already planned on taking the day off. And, she admitted grudgingly, she'd actually had a good time last night. That was important, she supposed.

As she trudged wearily back to her bed, she spotted something that she'd overlooked earlier. It was a small vial filled with a translucent purple liquid. She picked it up and noted upon closer inspection that attached to the vial was a note, written in neat script: "_Don't be an idiot. Take me._"

Hangover cure was a different potion from hangover prevention, and Penny would have had no reason to bring this with her when she'd expected that they would both take the prevention. She must have left to get the potion and come back again to drop it off.

Hermione was momentarily taken aback by the quiet thoughtfulness of Penny's actions, by the simple, unassuming consideration.

She took the potion in one swift gulp and collapsed into her bed to go back to sleep.

------

Hermione woke several hours later feeling more refreshed than she had in years. She stretched languidly, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face and her comfortable bed, knowing that she didn't have anywhere she needed to be or anything she needed to do.

But now that she was awake she found that she was bored just lying in bed, so she rose after a moment to head to the bathroom for a shower.

She emerged towel-clad from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, and headed over to her boudoir to find some casual robes.

She clasped the white towel around herself and rummaged through her wardrobe. She frowned when she found that she didn't actually _have_ anything that quite qualified as casual.

She eventually settled on a powder blue summer robe that she'd bought the previous summer for a garden party she had attended with Ginny and hadn't worn since. It was September, but it was still technically summer for the next few weeks, and the weather had been warm lately.

After she dressed, she stood in her bedroom for a moment, staring at the mirror and wondering what to do next.

Breakfast, she remembered, so she went to the kitchen and made herself a nice, large meal that she didn't usually have time for.

She checked the clock. Only half an hour had passed. Maybe she should have cooked the Muggle way, instead of simply doing it with magic. It would have taken longer, and she knew many people found cooking relaxing.

…She didn't know _how_ to cook the Muggle way, she realized after a moment. She stood in her kitchen rather blankly.

_This is ridiculous, _she told herself. _You haven't had a real break in years. There must be things for you to do. _

Well, there_ was_ a shelf of books she hadn't gotten to yet in her living room, so she headed out of the kitchen to one of her bookshelves. She reached for a recent publication that she'd been meaning to read, "Theory of Runic Substitution for Time-Related Variables", by Elle Apsing. Before she pulled the volume out, however, she stopped herself.

It would rather defeat the purpose of playing hooky just to do research for her job, wouldn't it? She tried to think of what Ron or Harry would say about it. Yes, they would definitely agree that she should not be doing anything for her work today.

They would probably agree that she shouldn't be reading scholastic texts at all, actually, but when she tried to think of something else to do she came up blank. They would want to play or watch Quidditch, of course, but that was no help to Hermione.

(She steadfastly refused to consider what Ginny's advice on what to do today might be.)

Hermione thought of Penny then, though she realized that she didn't know the other woman very well at all. They'd had a good time last night, Hermione was pretty sure, but her memories were clouded by alcohol and pot.

_Pot. _Hermione shook her head. How had _that_ happened? And she was pretty sure that she and Penelope had done more than talk and smoke together. She remembered kissing her, and some other things, but the memories were elusive. She hoped they were equally so for Penny, because things had the potential to become quite problematic at work.

Realizing that she was just staring at her bookcase, Hermione sighed and grabbed "The Sky Is Not Flat: Why Stars' Distances from Earth and Each Other Matter", by Al Phagamma, which she'd bought on a whim one day in Flourish and Blotts. She headed over to the couch and kicked off her shoes (why had she bothered putting shoes on?). She curled up comfortable in the corner of the sofa, her legs tucked underneath her, and began to read.

It was an interesting book, certainly, and she enjoyed reading it. But when she went to the kitchen to fix herself lunch after a few hours, she was hit again with the feeling that she ought to be _doing _something.

There must be things besides reading that she enjoyed, she reflected as she ate a sandwich.

Then what were they?

It was ridiculous. She had hobbies and interests. Everybody did. How could she be unable to find anything to do on her first day to herself in _years_?

Eventually she gave up and went back to her couch to continue reading.

In Arithmancy, Hermione had learned that identities had no actual content. Identities were simply used to change one equation into another that meant exactly the same thing, but was of more use in the problem.

She sighed. She knew that she couldn't quantify self. Like most things in real life, outside a classroom or lab, it just wasn't something one could measure. She couldn't figure it out with a quill and piece of parchment.

That might be, she thought, why she was so horrifically _bad _at real life.

If only she could neatly plan out her life as she did her study schedule or her research methods. Gods knew she'd tried, but they were always messed up.

_Too many unknowns_, she reflected wryly.

There was a sudden knock on the door, and Hermione started. Her book toppled from her knees and fell to the floor with a soft 'thump.' Who would be calling on her in the afternoon, when she was always at work?

"One moment!" she called. She picked up the book and placed a bookmark where she'd last read, then set it neatly on the coffee table.

She swung open the door to see Ron standing there awkwardly with his hands in his pockets. He gave her a hesitant half-smile.

"Hullo, Hermione," he said hesitantly. "Er, why aren't you at work?"

"I wasn't feeling well this morning." She eyed him in confusion. "Why are you here if you thought I'd be at work?"

"Um, ah, well… I guess I thought I'd leave a note or something," he explained lamely, seemingly speaking to a spot about a foot and a half above her head. "Mind if I come in?"

Hermione shook her head and stepped back, holding the door open to let him through. He entered her flat without quite looking at her and headed over to her sofa. She followed him wordlessly, and they both sat down.

"Hi, Ron," she said quietly. She realized that she was biting her lip, a nervous habit of hers of which she'd never quite ridden herself, and attempted a tight smile instead, though it came out as more of a grimace. "How are you?"

"Fine," he said a bit too loudly. He swallowed. "Er, how are you?"

Hermione shrugged and looked down. "As well as can be expected, I guess."

"That's… er, good." There was silence for a moment, and then he continued timidly, "You look nice."

"Oh." Hermione looked down and remembered her nice robes. "Thanks."

There was another silence.

"You haven't come by in a while," Ron spoke eventually.

Hermione stared down at her carpet. "Well, just, with everything, it seemed like things would be… well… strange," she finished weakly.

"You know this won't affect our friendship, right?" he asked her.

She looked up, actually managing a real smile of relief. "Well, I didn't know," she admitted.

"Herm," he said incredulously, "for such a smart girl, you can be awfully dense sometimes. We remain friends after you leave me and begin dating my sister, and you think our friendship won't survive_ this_?"

Well, now that he said it she did have to admit that it sounded a bit ludicrous.

"Well, we were already broken up…"

Hermione trailed off as Ron gave her a look.

"Okay, okay, I wasn't thinking," she conceded with a rueful smile. Then she sighed. "How are they?"

He didn't have to ask who 'they' were. He opened his mouth to speak, then paused and closed it without answering, clearly trying to figure out what to say.

"They still want to be friends with you," he told her. "They are afraid to come by to see you, in case you don't want to see them, or it'll just hurt you more. They… they didn't mean to—"

"I know," Hermione interrupted abruptly. She shook her head and gazed past Ron, at the wall. "They did the best thing they could have."

"I'm sorry, Hermione."

Hermione let out her breath heavily. "Me too." She stood up and fidgeted slightly before she forced herself to stop, clenching her arms at her sides. "Do you want something to drink?" she asked him, pacing over to the kitchen.

He stood up and followed her. "Just water is fine," he said.

"Ice?" she asked.

"Sure."

Hermione opened the freezer, and Ron made a noise of surprise. She looked back at him in confusion.

"What?" she asked.

"Just the booze, is all," he replied. "I didn't think you drank…"

"Oh." Hermione looked back, and there were the vodka and the schnapps sitting in the freezer. She hadn't even noticed them, she had just assumed that Penelope had taken the alcohol back home with her. She grabbed the ice and dropped it into his glass, then closed the freezer door and turned around, handing Ron the water. "I don't, usually. I just had a friend over for drinks last night, and she left the bottles here."

"A friend for drinks?" he asked in surprise as he took the glass from her. "You mean, like a—"

"Oh, no, just a friend," Hermione assured him quickly. "You might remember her, Penelope Clearwater? She was a few years above us at Hogwarts."

"Yeah, of course I remember Penelope," Ron replied, eyeing his friend with frank curiosity. "Percy used to date her, yeah? She was Petrified our second year by the basilisk."

"Yes, that's her," Hermione answered, a bit too primly.

"Okay…" he said, still giving her a searching look. "I didn't know you were friends with her?"

"We work together." That was true enough, after all.

"Right." He took another sip of water and his eyes darted around the room. "So, er…"

"Yes?" Hermione asked when it became clear that Ron was not going to speak on his own.

"Well, Mum wanted me to invite you over for dinner this weekend, for your birthday."

Hermione bit her lip again. "Oh, Ron, I don't know…"

"You _do_ still want to remain friends with all of us, right?" he asked her carefully.

"Of course!" she exclaimed, staring at him. "Of _course_ I do. I just… it's just so soon, Ron. Why does it have to be so soon?"

"Well, it's your birthday this weekend, Hermione. We always spend our birthdays together. It's tradition."

Her birthday, this weekend? Already? She stared for a moment as she realized that it was true.

How had she forgotten that it was her birthday?

"Ah, well," Hermione cast about wildly for an excuse, "I already told my parents I'd spend my birthday with them."

She had no idea where that came from. She had done no such thing. She hadn't even seen her parents in over a year, nor thought about them much really, so why she chose that of all things to blurt out was a mystery.

Still, she knew that they'd be happy if she came for her birthday, so she decided abruptly that she actually would.

"Oh." Ron looked surprised. "Okay then. Well, she told you that you're welcome to stop by any time you want."

"Thanks," Hermione murmured. She took another sip of water simply because she had no idea what else to do or say. Usually she and Ron enjoyed light, amusing banter, but neither of them was in the mood for that kind of interaction.

Ron was one of her best friends. He'd matured greatly since she'd first met him, and they'd come through for each other time and again. Yet as they stood there she realized that she had no idea what to talk to him about.

He was shifting uncomfortably, clearly thinking the same thing. They both glanced at the clock and saw that he hadn't even been there half an hour, and it seemed awfully short for a visit.

Hermione tasted blood, and realized that she'd actually broken the skin of her lip. She forced herself to stop.

"So how are you doing?" he asked again.

She shrugged helplessly, clueless about how to describe how she was feeling. "I'm getting by," she said. "Is there anything new in your life?"

"Not a thing." He paused and considered. "The Chudley Cannons beat the Wigtown Wanderers," he offered, "but I don't suppose that means much to you."

"No," Hermione confessed with a half-smile. She had never much cared for Quidditch.

"I guess I should go, then," he said. "But definitely come by sometime soon, Hermione. We miss you, and we all really want you to stay a part of our lives."

She nodded. "I will, Ron. I promise. Really, it won't be forever, but I need a while to get over it. It'll be easier when I feel a bit more removed from it. I just need a few weeks or something."

"Okay," Ron nodded. "I'll see you, then."

"Yes, I'll see you. Thank you for stopping by," Hermione told him sincerely. "It really makes me feel better, knowing you're here for me."

Ron swallowed and shifted a bit, as he often did when she was talking about emotions. "Er, you're welcome. So, um, see you soon."

"Goodbye."

He Apparated away with a soft 'bang!'

Then he was gone, and it had only been half an hour, and Hermione still had most of the day to kill.

She went back to her book.

----------

She ran into Penelope almost immediately the next day at work.

"Hi, Hermione," the other woman greeted her amiably.

"Hello," Hermione replied distractedly. "Tell me—I was reading Al Phagamma's book last night, about star distances and light speed. Do you know it?"

"Yes, of course I do," Penny answered. "Why?"

"I have a couple questions, if you have some time," she said.

"Well, I have a couple of experiments I need to check on now, but my lunch break is at noon, is that okay?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, that's fine. I'll meet you by your office?"

Penelope agreed, and they both headed to their laboratories.

Hermione's research was very theoretical. Some of her coworkers in other areas were working on new spells or potions to eventually be released to the public or used in other fields, but Hermione's research group was concerned solely with expanding their bank of knowledge about the nature of time. Other groups sometimes dug up information from their archives for more practical use, but the Time Distortion Research Group had no direct connection to such things.

She quite liked it that way. Some things were by nature practical. _ Defense Against the Dark Arts, for instance,_ she thought darkly. But Hermione enjoyed hiding away in secrecy, generally unanswerable to anyone, with no goal but to expand knowledge for knowledge's sake.

Just now she was studying the aging effects of time travel on living beings. The issue of how organisms aged during participation of time manipulation was still far from resolved in the academic community.

It was very rare that she was ever allowed to publish her research in full, and she could never use her own name on papers, but it was not unusual for her to be able to scrape up something to submit to a journal after a few months of research.

Anyway, even if she could not tell anybody but her coworkers, Hermione would be very happy to know how it worked. Not only did she love to obtain any new knowledge she could, in this case it had bearing on her personally. She'd calculated that she could be nearly seven months older than she thought through the use of her time turner.

She took out the lab rats with a regretful smile. She did not enjoy testing on animals, but in this case it was necessary. She was not hurting these ones anyway, and they got quite adequate care. When she'd first discovered that some of her coworkers were doing less savory experiments on animals, her first instinct had been to go on a wild rampage, setting them all free.

Of course, eventually, rationality prevailed.

She was releasing two rats from a common time-freezing charm and beginning to write down her final notes when a memo came flying in through the door and hovered five feet from her, waiting patiently.

Hermione sighed, closed the latch the rats' cage, and beckoned it over to her.

There had been some outcry in the Department of Mysteries shortly after the Ministry introduced the flying pieces of paper almost a hundred years ago. Owls were smart enough to know when someone is not to be disturbed, but the memos had not been as intelligent. She'd heard stories of them flying into an Unspeakable's face in the middle of an experiment, nearly killing ten people.

The memos were still nuisance, and often were a distraction, but the five-foot rule, in which the memos could not fully approach until invited, was the best the Department of Mysteries had been able to procure. The Unspeakables really did seem to be in a state of constant battle with the idiocy of the Ministry.

Some things would always be a constant in her life, it seemed.

As Hermione opened the memo and read it, it looked like more idiocy was in store for her now.

_Miss Granger, _

_Mr. Stone from the Bookkeeping department is here to see you about records you've requested._

She eyed it unhappily. "Records I've _requested_?" she muttered. "They're required to give me those."

She'd told Harry their third year that history was full of stories of people who had gone back in time and accidentally killed their parents or ancestors. Now that she was better versed in the subject, she was certain that such a thing was impossible, and at first she had just assumed that they were tall tales. Yet to her dismay, she'd found Ministry records detailing such events, and she was determined to get to the bottom of the matter.

She sighed. Much as she would like to make the man wait for a while simply out of spite, she knew that if she put him in a bad mood, it would make the encounter just as unpleasant for herself.

She shrugged off her lab coat and went back to the front office, the only place in the department where someone outside her department was allowed. A short balding man was sitting in one of the chairs.

"Mr. Stone?" she asked him in a determinedly respectful voice.

He stood. "Yes. Miss Granger, I presume?" He, as well, was insincerely pleasantly.

She nodded. "Do you have the records I require?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger," he said in a smug voice that was anything_ but_ sorry, "The content of the records you've asked for is public knowledge, we really don't see the point in going through the efforts to reproduce them in such detail."

As she always did in such situations, Hermione took a deep breath and counted to five before she spoke. It certainly required almost as much manpower to send somebody down here to argue with her as it would to simply go through with her request. This man, or his superior, was simply resentful of the authority of the Unspeakables and was trying to give her a hard time.

When she spoke, her voice was very calm.

"Well, as you don't know what it is I'm studying, you don't know precisely what it is I'm looking for in those records, do you?"

He sneered at her. He was less skilled than she was at maintaining the polite façade. "There's nothing of value in those records that isn't easily obtained through the public information bank. Just because it's just as easy for you to get records from us as it is to get them the normal way doesn't mean you should cause us more work!"

"Nothing of value to you, perhaps, but I've already checked the public records, and I assure you that only what I'm asking _you_ for contains information I need."

"That's impossible," he told her priggishly, lifting his chin and looking at her as though she were stupid.

This was ridiculous. "You're required to give me those files," she told him.

"We refuse to do extra work when it's not necessary!" he shot back snippily.

Much as she did not want to validate his actions by offering an explanation, she did not have time for this. Hermione tried to figure out how to explain why she needed the files without giving away classified information.

"The information in the files_ cannot_ be accurate," she told him. "I need a complete replica of the originals, as well as related records from the same time period, to ascertain what is true in the reports and what is fabrication."

"I assure you," he sniffed, "the records are accurate."

She stared at him in disbelief. "The first of the records is from the first millennium," she pointed out. "There's no way for you to know."

Plus, she added to herself, the universe _could not_ support a paradox. Hermione had full faith in the law of non-contradiction. If those records were true, then reality itself could not exist.

"Even if whoever wrote them was incorrect, which I sincerely doubt," he replied, "How would _you _be able to tell?"

She reflected for a moment that it would actually be quite nice if reality _didn't _exist. She would not have to deal with any of this.

"I don't think that the writer of these was _wrong_," she kept the polite smile on her face with the skill of someone who had many years practice, "I believe that they were deliberately placed lies. Spook stories to discourage people. The records can help me figure out _why_."

"The Ministry, young lady, does not lie."

At this, she could not stop herself from dropping her polite expression for just a moment. She stared openly.

"Hello, perhaps we should repeat those introductions," she said slowly. "I'm _Hermione Granger_."

"Yes, I know quite well who you are," he said irritably.

"The Ministry doesn't lie? So I suppose that Voldemort never came back after all?" she asked.

The man flinched noticeably at the Dark Lord's name. Even though Voldemort had been defeated over five years ago, some sillier (more cowardly) people were so used to being terrified of the name that they were still unsettled when they heard it out loud.

She was not surprised that this man fell into that category.

"That was an honest mistake on the part of the Ministry," he told her angrily.

"And _I _can tell you, someone in my field supplied the abstracts of those records, and such a person would _have_ to have known the impossibility of what he or she wrote."

"Well, that's the problem of people in your field, then, isn't it?" He asked her, clearly feeling very proud of himself.

"Yes," she told him patiently. "Yes, it is. That's why I am attempting to get these records in order to set it right."

His jaw dropped as he glared at her, but clearly could think of nothing else to say. He looked something like a fish, gaping at her.

"I'm glad we've come to this understanding, then, Mr. Stone," Hermione said briskly, checking her watch. "I have a meeting now, I'll expect to see the records in my mailbox first thing tomorrow morning?"

She gave him a viciously civil smile as she headed back into the Department, where he was not allowed, to go meet Penny for lunch.

She had expected that things with Penny would be strained after their little… incident… the night before last. Yet instead it seemed to be the opposite. Despite the residual tension left over from that unexpected piece of annoyance, Hermione found herself actually smiling widely in anticipation of lunch.

She even caught herself _humming_ as she walked to Penny's lab.

-

-


	4. Oversights

Title: A Time For Heroes

Author: Anisky

Disclaimer: Nothing from the Harry Potter universe is mine, it all belongs to J. K. Rowling and whatever publishers she uses.

Rating: R

Summary: She had always been proper. Collected. But Hermione should have known couldn't keep it up, not when her life falls apart and all of Wizarding Britain are watching and taking pictures. Everyone needs to draw comfort from somewhere. Post-Hogwarts, post-war, Hermione/Penelope.

A/N: I checked the Lexicon, and it says that Hermione's parents are unnamed, so I just gave them random names… sorry if their names have been revealed somewhere. And as always, I thank Kelly for her excellent betareading skills.

-

-

Chapter 4: Oversights

-

Penelope was already waiting for her. "Hi again," she said with a grin as Hermione came up.

"Hi," Hermione replied. "Sorry I'm late, the idiots in bookkeeping decided I didn't have quite enough annoyances in my life, and kindly decided to rectify that."

"Ugh," Penelope's shudder made it obvious that she also had experience with that particular brand of torture. "So, shall we go to the staff room? Only place we don't have to worry about being overheard and suddenly finding ourselves unable to speak."

Hermione grimaced, and nodded in agreement. She hated the sensation of telling her mouth to speak but being unable to _do _it. So they turned and walked down the hall to the cozy little room the Unspeakables often used for breaks. Sometimes they used it to talk about classified things, but often it was because Unspeakables had the habit of getting engrossed in an experiment and staying long after any cafes had closed for the night.

Once Hermione had even curled up on one of the chairs and slept there. She'd been working on a particularly engaging project, and had worked herself so hard that she'd accidentally fallen asleep. When she awoke she'd been so impatient to return to her experiment that she'd simply never left.

Ginny, she remembered, had not been amused.

"So what were they on your case about this time?" Penelope asked as they entered the room. Somebody had already made a pot of tea, and they both poured themselves a cup.

"I wanted an exact replica of Ministry records about time travel, and they insisted that since the content is freely available I _couldn't_ actually need anything else."

Penelope smiled sympathetically as they sat down across from each other. "What records, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Stories about witches or wizards going back in time and killing their past selves, or their parents or grandparents or whatnot, or going into the future and being killed by their future selves. I've been working on the time travel contradiction issue and I just can't come to any conclusion." She let out a noise of frustration.

"I didn't know that those stories were actually officially released," Penelope said in surprise. "Isn't that sort of thing impossible?"

"Yes, it's called the 'grandfather paradox' and it's completely basic to time travel theory. I know that the records _have _to be false. I'm sure of it. But I haven't been able to _prove_ it, and it's driving me insane." Hermione took a sip of tea and realized that she hadn't packed herself a lunch.

She hated to cause more work for the house elves, but she was quite hungry, so she excused herself to send off an order for a turkey sandwich. Penny, also without a lunch, stood up and followed her.

"But if they're not false," Penny said in confusion, "then you get a direct contradiction. Something did happen and it didn't."

"Yes," Hermione confirmed with an aggrieved sigh as she scribbled her order down. "It's ridiculous that they exist in the first place. Nobody working in the field of time travel could have actually believed them."

Penelope shook her head as she sent off her own meal request. They headed back to their seats. "That proves it though, doesn't it? If you start with a proposition and derive a contradiction from it, then the proposition is necessarily false. So you start with 'the records are true', you get that something happened and it didn't happen, therefore the records are not true. …Right?"

They both sat down again as Penelope gave her final unsure query.

"In a complete system, yes," agreed Hermione. "But we don't have one, not even close. I'd go so far as to say that I'm not even sure our system is _consistent_, not without a scientific explanation for magic. And if it's not consistent, then we're back to square one. If you have _any_ statement that's both logically true and false, then you have all of them."

"But the universe can't support a paradox!" argued Penelope. "It—it implodes."

"It makes everything possible," Hermione grinned.

Penelope gave her a withering look. "And everything impossible," she pointed out, wagging a finger at the other woman.

Suddenly, a plate with a sandwich appeared on the table in front of Hermione, and a bowl of soup appeared in front of Penelope.

Hermione looked contrite. "I know. But until we have a coherent explanation for magic, we're sort of feeling around in the dark." She took a thoughtful bite of her sandwich.

"It's _internally _coherent. There's nothing within magical theory that's inconsistent with itself, or contradictory." Penelope paused. "Well, that we know of."

"Yes, but it's entirely isolated from _other_ truths we're aware of. It's a fault, you can't deny it makes it incomplete."

Penelope nodded with a sigh. "Maybe, but I think it's unavoidable. It's not a fault with magic; Muggles have the same thing with their science, they even seem to have a sort of system now where one of the properties of their laws is that they break themselves, or something."

"True; we have paradoxes even without magic or physics," Hermione agreed. "'This statement is false.' That's one, right there."

Penny paused as she considered that. "It doesn't matter, though, because it's just words, it doesn't change the nature of reality, so it doesn't have to follow the law of the excluded middle. That's a fault of the language, stemming from its artificiality, isn't it?"

"Well," Hermione thought for a moment before answering; it wasn't really her area of expertise. "Specifically, I think, it's a symptom of the fact that our language isn't a complete system, as I was saying before."

"Let's see." Penelope was still concentrating on the Hermione's paradoxical statement. "It's a contradiction because if it's true, then it's false, and if it's false, then it's true. Oh, I remember! Sorry, it's been a few years since seventh-year Arithmancy. Paradoxes have to be self-referential, don't they?"

Hermione nodded. "Well, yes, of course, for something to be both true and false it must refer back to itself at some point."

There was a beat, and both of them looked at each other. Hermione's eyes lit up, and Penelope's followed only a fraction of a second later. Penelope was the first to manage to collect her thoughts enough to speak.

"But if you kill your past self—"

"—then that _is _self-referential," Hermione exclaimed, feeling her excitement rise as her thoughts began to snap into place.

"And instead of being a fault in the language…" Penelope breathed.

"It would be a fault in magical theory itself." Hermione felt her adrenaline begin to rush and, despite the fact that it was stemming from an intellectual exercise, she felt the need to move and do _something_. She reached down to take a bite of her sandwich to try to satisfy this urge.

"But that just means that the files are wrong," Penny repeated questioningly. "You just said it a few minutes ago."

"Yes, I did, but suddenly I'm not so sure." Hermione took a moment to chew her sandwich as she tried to organize her thoughts. "It could mean the same thing as it does in language, really. So it would be our own magical incompleteness proof."

"Well, let's think about this thought-experiment style," Penelope suggested. "Maybe you're just taking the—what did you call it? The grandfather paradox—as so basic that you're missing something."

Hermione nodded. "Okay."

"If you went back a few years and killed the younger you—what would happen? Unless the universe is self-aware it can't purposely stop you. There's no particular reason you couldn't go back and shoot 'Avada Kedavra' while you're sleeping. _Something _must happen as a result."

Hermione shrugged as she pressed her lips together in thought. "Well, at first glance, you die, but then you never went back in the first place, so you're alive after all, so you killed yourself after all. But that means you didn't. And so on." She spread her hands helplessly. "Causality is messed up, so that the effect of each action creates the impossibility of the preceding action."

"Well, what are the varying theories about it?"

"For one, if we can change the past, it necessitates parallel universes. . You could make changes and kill your past self or your future self could come back and kill you, but the future traveler would just be from some_ possible_ future, because by killing the past self, that future could no longer exist. But the future person came from _somewhere_. So on some level, it had to have happened, but it never happens in our reality. Hence, parallel universes."

Penelope nodded.

"Best explanation for this would be that each time you make a decision, a new parallel universe is created. Going back in time would just create a new universe, just like any other decision."

"The problem with that being that if you go back and change the past, then you're no longer in your own universe, so you haven't changed anything in your 'home reality', so to speak?" Penelope was certainly clever. "Ouch. That would probably leave you living in a universe that isn't really yours. No, thanks."

"We can't rule something out because the concept is distasteful to us." This was an important precept in theoretical magic that Hermione had found superficially obvious, but in practice very hard to follow.

"Yes, but it doesn't quite seem to work out, does it?" Penelope leaned her elbows on the arm of her chair and propped her head up to the side. "That would leave us with disappearances of people who had gone into the past and ended up in a different reality."

"Except that there could be other realities from which that person left, and they ended up in ours—or created ours, remember, they could be branching off so that several different futures could actually count our reality right now as part of their 'home reality'—and we never know the difference."

Penelope nodded. "Okay, I think I have a handle on the parallel universes possibility. By that model, people going back and killing their past selves would create no problem, right?"

Hermione pursed her lips and took a bit of her sandwich. "My research suggests that there are not a lot of parallel universes. It's complex, but basically, it has to do with the balance of matter and energy, as well as the implausibility of a structure that leaves us without any unexplained disappearances, as you said before. It sounds neat in theory, but it would be virtually impossible for it to work out so well randomly."

"Okay then. Other theories?"

"The other main possibility is that you actually couldn't kill yourself, or your grandfather, etc, that it's simply impossible. Basically it would be taking away free will."

"Would it? Why not think of it that you still have free will, _but_ obviously because you remember things a certain way, that's how they happened. You have a choice, but if you'd made a different choice, then you'd have a different memory. Things are as they are." Penelope's eyes flicked up to meet Hermione's as she blew lightly on her soup and took a sip.

"But in that case, the future would have already happened. So it's already written."

"Well, yes, I suppose."

"But if the future is written, then it's only the illusion of free will," Hermione said decisively. "Anyway, theories of the can't-change-the-past school tend to rely on the block model of time—that it's all already _there_, somewhere, we just haven't experienced it all yet. It's the only way to get around the complexity of counter temporal causality."

Penelope nodded. "Okay, then, with that in mind, what do the records say?"

"They're terribly unspecific," Hermione lamented, easily changing tracks from the lofty theory to physical evidence. "Though come to think of it, most of the paradox-causing issues aren't usually someone from our particular present going back and killing themselves, but rather of someone from the present traveling into the future and being killed by their future selves."

"Do we have records of the other side of that?" Penny queried. "Someone from the present coming upon their past self, and killing them?"

"Well, it's the same event, so they're all filed together."

Hermione was quiet for a while as she ate her sandwich. After a while she voiced her thoughts.

"In our third year," she said slowly, "Harry and I went back in time three hours to save Sirius Black—I'd been using a Time Turner all year—and there was a point where he saw what he _thought_ was his father. But it turned out that it was really himself, from three hours later, traveled back in time. He was able to do the Patronus then, which he hadn't quite been able to do before, and he said it was because he knew he could do it because he'd already seen himself do it. And he knew that it didn't matter that he'd seen himself, because he already remembered it had happened, and he'd thought it was his father."

Penelope had a thoughtful look on her face. "So he did it because he knew he had. Seems like a bit of a loop, doesn't it? What if he hadn't done it then? Where did its… its _happening _come from? What was the cause, what was the effect?"

"I know, it bothered me too, even then, but I couldn't figure anything out," Hermione admitted. "So I just forgot about it, until I started this job. I just have no idea." She sighed and finished off her sandwich.

"Do you think the records will help?" Penelope asked.

"I thought so, but if they're true, I'm not sure how much help they'd be."

"You've checked _our_ archives, of course?"

Hermione nodded. That was always the first place anyone would check when faced with a problem that ought to have come up before. "They're not there. That's part of why I thought they had to be a lie in the first place, though most of the instances are old enough that archives may have been lost, or destroyed, or they didn't bother to keep them."

"That's odd." Penelope finished her soup, and the two women stood up to leave their dishes on the counter.

"So are you very familiar with Muggle astronomy and physics?" Hermione asked as they walked across the room.

"There are some overlaps. To put a fine point on it, I know more about Muggle astronomy than the average Muggle, less than a Muggle who's working as closely with the subject as I am, and more than more of my coworkers."

Hermione nodded with a laugh. "Do you find it useful?"

"Definitely useful in the theoretical aspect," Penelope said, "but not at all in dealings with divination or the best times to collect potions ingredients. Some aspects of it have subtle impacts on the performance of spells at certain times, but that's only recently been explored, as I guess you know if you've read anything by Al Phagamma."

Hermione began walking back to their seats, but Penelope hung back and glanced at the clock. "I think my lunch break is over, not that it actually matters, but I've got something I really should get back to."

Hermione nodded. Though most of them kept their own schedules and _when_ they worked didn't matter as long as they put in the hours and produced results, it was generally easier to stick to predetermined hours, so as to pace themselves and not take on too much overtime.

"I'm sorry, I completely forgot that you had questions about astronomy to ask me, I got so wrapped up in asking you questions," Penelope apologized.

"No, it's fine, you've given me new ideas. I would like to have a chance to talk to you about that, though."

"Maybe over a cup of tea?" Penny offered with a smile. "I'm busy tonight, but tomorrow would be good? Lunch?"

Hermione hesitated, trying to figure out how to voice her thoughts. "Penny… I would like to, certainly… but you should know that I'm not over Ginny yet. What happened a few nights ago…"

She did not want to call it a mistake, but the words were hanging there unsaid. Thankfully, she did not have to actually vocalize them, as Penelope nodded quickly.

"Yes, I understand. Just as friends, really," she said earnestly.

Hermione sighed in relief, and gave the other woman a grateful smile. "Wonderful. Though, actually, I can't do tomorrow. I have to spend all day with my parents tomorrow, it's my birthday."

"Oh, happy birthday!" Penny exclaimed. "How old are you?"

"Twenty four," Hermione told her. "Thanks. Sunday would work for me, though?"

Penelope nodded. "Sunday is fine. I'll stop by your flat?"

Hermione agreed, and both of them headed to their labs.

-------

The next morning Hermione rummaged through her bottom drawer, where she kept her Muggle clothing. There wasn't much there. She put on a pair of jeans, and they fit her just fine, but all of the shirts had been bought years ago, and were tight across her chest and waist.

Finally Hermione settled on a black tank top. She had her wand crammed inside of her pants, and it looked a little awkward, but she didn't have anywhere else to put it and she couldn't leave her house without it.

She Apparated down to the street below and stuck out her wand to catch the Knight Bus.

The problem with visiting Muggles, she reflected as she endured the bumpy ride, was that it would be easy enough to Apparate there; the issue was that she could never quite be sure she wouldn't be seen. Even if she Apparated directly into her parents house—they didn't know how impolite that was, after all—they might have company. Then she would have to contact Obliviators and keep the Muggles there before they began telling people and it would just be a huge, inconvenient mess.

So she had to go the long way around.

The Knight Bus arrived after only a few minutes, and Hermione did not even realize the absurdity of considering a four-minute ride the 'long way around.' She stepped out onto the lawn in front of the familiar suburban house from her childhood. She walked across the yard and rang the doorbell.

"Hermione!" Her mother exclaimed in surprise as she swung the door open and saw her daughter. "We weren't expecting you. Happy Birthday! Please, come in."

"Hi, Mum. Thank you," she said as she entered. Her mother closed the door behind her.

"Richard! Hermione is here!" she called. Her father came down the stairs.

"Hermione!" he said, striding over to give her a hug. "This is unexpected! Did we miss an em—er, an owl or something?"

"No, I just thought I'd stop by to see you, that's all," she said. "I haven't spent my birthday with you in…" she paused unsurely, "er… thirteen years."

The room suddenly felt slightly oppressive, and Hermione cleared her throat.

"So, how are both of you?" she asked, making good use of her well polished forced smile.

"We've been good," her mother said.

"You know, same old, same old," her father agreed.

Truth to tell, Hermione realized that she _didn't _know, but she just nodded and kept smiling.

"I wish we'd known that you were coming, I would have made something special for your birthday," her Mum said.

"Sorry, I just thought I'd surprise you," Hermione replied.

"Well, it's nice to see you." Was it her imagination, or did her father's smile look somewhat faked as well? "Why don't we all go sit down? No need to stand around in the foyer."

They went into the living room and sat down on the couch. Hermione pulled her wand out of her pants first so that it wouldn't dig against her skin. Her parents eyed it as she held it in her lap.

"Actually, why don't we have a nice birthday lunch for you?" her mother asked, leaping up. "I have a few things I could whip up."

"Okay, do you want me to help?" Hermione asked, standing as well, though she knew perfectly well that she had no idea what she could do to help.

She wished that she could whip up something wonderful for her parents; it would be a nice gesture, and she thought they would like to see a demonstration of what she'd learned in her seven years at Hogwarts.

Unfortunately, magic in front of Muggles, even if they were Muggles who legitimately knew about the Wizarding world, was illegal unless the Muggles were in an officially Wizarding area. It was a stupid law, but with her career Hermione did not want to have crimes on her record, and performing magic in front of Muggles was an automatic offense, impossible to hide.

"Oh, no, no, you sit here with your father and catch up. It'll be ready soon." Her mother hugged her quickly. "It's nice to see you, sweetie."

"Nice to see you too," Hermione murmured as her mother left the room. She sat back down to made small talk with her father.

"So, how's work?" she asked him.

"Same as usual, really. Not all that much changes in the dentistry business, after all."

Hermione nodded.

"How is work for you?"

"It's good," she said with a smile. "I really like it. I'm working on some exciting things."

"You're—what is it—an Unspeakable?" her father asked.

"Yes," she said with a little laugh, "it's a research position, really, but really top secret. There are loads of spells to stop me from talking about it."

"Okay," he said.

She cast around wildly for something else to say, and with a feeling of relief came up with something. "So, I'm actually beginning to look into Muggle science for work," she told him.

"Really?" her father asked.

"I can't explain too much, of course, but I'm probably going to be working with Muggle physics, actually-- with Einstein's equations, and with the affect of gravity on the curvature of spacetime. It's quite funny, really, as I'm using Einstein's equations to affect my work in the same way that they affected his work."

"But, sweetie, Einstein, he helped create the atomic bomb, right?" he asked blankly. "Surely he didn't use magic?"

"Well… no," Hermione said, blushing a bit. She had assumed that her father would be familiar with anything Muggle, which was clearly ridiculous now that she thought of it. She was fairly certain closed time-like curves were not covered in dentistry school, and even if he'd learned about theoretical physics in university, it had been a long time since then. "Really, his equations weren't complicated, they were just a paradigm shift. I'm not using them for magic, exactly, but just for creating a different way of seeing the way things work."

"Ah, I see," her father said, who clearly didn't. "I guess you can't explain any more than that?"

Hermione opened her mouth and attempted, but all she got out was "No, sorry."

"Oh, that's fine," he said with a nervous sort of phony laugh, "and your friends, how are they?"

"Good," she said with a strained smile, "and, er, yours?"

"They're doing well. Kathy and Michael Hawkin are having a baby boy."

"Oh." Hermione tried to remember who they were, but for the life of her, she could not. "That's nice."

The conversation went on like that, quite superficial and meaningless, until her mother called them in for lunch. Hermione stood up gratefully and went to the kitchen.

There were bagels with lox on the table, which had been one of Hermione's favorites as a child. A carton of orange juice was also on the table.

"Mum! That looks great! Thanks," she said with a smile as she sat in one of the chairs.

"I figured we could have a brunch," her mother explained as she took a seat as well. "You used to like it so much as a child."

"I haven't had bagels and lox in years," Hermione grinned, reaching for the cream cheese.

She was glad to have something to do with her hands and her mouth, so that there was no pressure to talk. They ate in somewhat comfortable silence for a few minutes.

"So, ah, how is that girlfriend of yours, Ginny, is it?" her father asked. His voice was too casual, and Hermione could tell that despite his efforts to be tolerant, he still was not quite comfortable with the idea. At least relationship issues were something that her parents could understand just as well as a witch or wizard. Hermione felt a little guilty that her orientation had taken away even that comfort area from her parents, and even worse that all she could have now was bad news.

Hermione grimaced. "Actually, we broke up recently," she told them.

"Oh, poor baby," her mother exclaimed sympathetically, reaching out and laying her hand on her daughter's. "What happened?"

Hermione sighed. "She left me for Harry," she admitted.

"Oh _sweetie_!" her mother cried, and stood up so that she could hug her daughter properly.

Hermione closed her eyes and hugged her mother back, tightly. It had been so long since she'd really experienced a mother's hug, and she was surprised to find that it comforted her, and made things feel safe, even now when she was an adult and rarely saw her parents.

"How are you holding up?" Her mother asked as she let go. Her mother slid back into the kitchen chair, but kept a concerned gaze on Hermione.

"I'm doing the best I can, but it's hard," Hermione said, "especially with all the reporters and everything bothering me."

"Reporters?" her father asked, who had been silent until now, clearly trusting his wife's ability to comfort her daughter on matters of the heart.

Hermione rolled her eyes, taking great effort to try to be casual. "Yes, they're following me around all the time, trying to get pictures and ask questions and all. Plus there are all the readers stopping me on the street to tell me how sorry they are. It's absolutely horrid." She took another bite of her bagel.

"They're following you around because of Harry?" he asked.

Hermione shot her dad a very confused look. _What?_ "Well, because of all three of us."

"Didn't you tell us that homosexuality was quite acceptable in the Wizarding World?" her mother asked.

"Yes, it is." Hermione blinked in bemusement at the apparent non sequitur. "I mean by sheer numbers the assumption is that someone is straight because there are so many more, and there are some subtle prejudices, but certainly less than being Muggleborn, for instance." She winced slightly, as she always did when she mentioned to her parents that being Muggleborn gave her problems, but they didn't seem to notice.

"Well, then, did the two of you have a very public fight or something?" Dad asked her.

Hermione still felt confused as she shook her head. She stood up, deciding that she wanted some water. She answered as she walked over to the cabinet that held the glasses. "No, we've been as quiet as possible to be about the whole thing."

"Then, honey, why are reporters covering your breakup with your girlfriend?" Her mother finally asked, looking puzzled.

Why were her parents asking her such silly questions all of a sudden?

"Well, I _am_ a war hero, you know," she reminded them with a small laugh as she took a glass out of the cupboard and twirled, heading for the sink.

Her parents glanced at each other briefly.

"Sweetie…" Her father spoke slowly, in an odd, strangled voice. "What war?"

Hermione froze, and dimly noted the sound of shattering as her glass slipped from her fingers.

-

-

As always, please review. Any review, long or short, positive or negative (though of course I'd prefer longer concrit, but even just a quick "I like reading this!" or "It's getting too boring for me" is **way** better than nothing). Just to know that some people are reading this, and to get your impressions!


	5. Interrelation

Title: A Time For Heroes

Author: Anisky

Disclaimer: Nothing from the Harry Potter universe is mine, it all belongs to J. K. Rowling and whatever publishers she uses.

Rating: R

Summary: She had always been proper. Collected. But Hermione should have known couldn't keep it up, not when her life falls apart and all of Wizarding Britain are watching and taking pictures. Everyone needs to draw comfort from somewhere. Post-Hogwarts, post-war, Hermione/Penelope.

A/N: So, I'm posting this rather belatedly. Obviously, it's AU now, and non-DH compliant.

End of last chapter:

"_Then, honey, why are reporters covering your break up with your girlfriend?" Her mother finally asked, looking puzzled._

_Why were her parents asking her such silly questions all of a sudden?_

"_Well, I am a war hero, you know," she reminded them with a small laugh as she took a glass out of the cupboard and twirled, heading for the sink. _

_Her parents glanced at each other briefly. _

"_Sweetie…" Her father spoke slowly, in an odd, strangled voice. "What war?" _

_Hermione froze, and dimly noted the sound of glass breaking on the floor as the glance slipped from her fingers._

Chapter 5: Interrelation

She could feel her heart beating. Her eyes darted from one parent to the other. They weren't joking.

"What?" she managed finally, stepping over the glass to get her wand. She pointed it at the broken glass and exclaimed, "Reparo!"

That done, she turned back to her parents, looking at their serious faces. She shook her head. "No, no, there is no _way_I haven't told you."

"You've never said anything about a war, Hermione," her mother confirmed after a brief hesitation.

"Remember, Lord Voldemort? The Death Eaters?" She looked back and forth between them in disbelief and slipped back into her seat without bothering to get water. "I know I told you about them, they thought that Muggleborns shouldn't be allowed in Wizarding society?"

"I think you mentioned something about that," her mom admitted after a pause, "but only occasionally, and you never said anything about a war."

"Voldemort," her father's eyes were narrowed in thought, "wasn't he the one your friend Harry defeated as a baby?"

"Yes, but he came back at the end of my fourth year. I must have told you, that's why I didn't go to school for most of my last year." Hermione couldn't believe that her parents didn't remember. Could someone have Obliviated them? They must have. But why?

She thought back, trying to remember the conversations in which she told them, and realized that nothing came to mind.

"Your fourth year?!" her father cried angrily. "You've been involved in a war since you were _fifteen_?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Wait, you didn't go to school for your last year?" her mother interjected.

"I went back at the end and _fin_—"

"And you never told us?" He interrupted her furiously.

"I thought I had!" she protested.

"You don't forget to tell your parents that you're in a _war_, Hermione," her dad said icily.

It was true. She knew he was right.

Yet somehow, she_ had_.

Hermione looked down at the table, nibbling at her lip. "I was afraid you'd take me out of school," she admitted.

"And you don't think that's our right as parents, to decide what's best for our fifteen year old daughter?" This came from her mother. She spoke quietly, but Hermione vaguely remembered that her mother was quietest when she was angriest.

"I was at Hogwarts, it was the safest place I could be," she tried to explain to them, "if I went home I'd just be an easier target, and you'd be in more danger."

"Why didn't you explain that to us, then?" her father demanded. "Did you think that we can't be reasonable? That we wouldn't understand? What, because we don't have magic we aren't intelligent people who can think and understand a situation?"

Hermione gaped at her parents. "What—of _course_ not!"

"Then why didn't you tell us?" her mother asked softly.

She looked down at her hands. "I don't know," she told them finally, "I—I really thought I had by now. I guess I just assumed that since it was such a huge part of my life, you must have known about it."

There was a very long pause.

"We don't really know about _anything _in your life, Hermione," her mother said eventually.

She had no idea what to say in response. It was just painfully true.

"I really thought I'd told you," she repeated helplessly.

When she looked into her mother's eyes, she already knew what they were all thinking: _That was the worst part of all._

Hermione swallowed, her throat feeling very dry. She got up again to get that glass of water, then sat back down at the table, looking back and forth between her parents and trying to figure out what to say. Unfortunately, they seemed similarly speechless.

"So, um…" she tried.

Suddenly, there was a strange chiming sound, and Hermione grasped her wand and jumped up from her seat. She held the wand up in a defensive position, looking around wildly.

Her mother lightly touched her arm and gave her a reassuring, though somewhat alarmed, look. Her father drew a small silver thing from his pocked and looked at it. He flipped it open after a moment, and the chiming stopped. He held it up to the side of his face.

"Hello?" he asked.

Hermione sank back into her seat, blushing hotly at her paranoid reaction. It was a _telephone_. A—a mobile phone, she thought she faintly remembered hearing them called. She'd seen Muggles use them before. They had become popular in the late nineties, and she hadn't spent more than a few days in contact in the Muggle world since before that.

"Yes… okay, thank you for letting me know," he spoke into the phone, and then snapped it shut and looked up.

"That was just the office, letting me know that my nine o'clock on Monday cancelled," he told them.

"Oh," Hermione squeaked. She slid her wand back into her pants uncomfortably and tried not to think about how bright red her face must be. "Well. That's good."

"So, er, any wars going on now, sweetie?" her mother asked in a heartbreaking imitation of normal familial small talk.

"Ah, no," Hermione hastened to assure her, "there's been peace for about five years, now, Harry defeated Voldemort in our final year at Hogwarts."

"The one you didn't attend?" her father asked, looking over his glasses at her.

"I went and finished it," she said.

"How were you Head Girl if you didn't go?" her mother asked.

"Well, Professor McGonagall was a member of the Order…" Hermione trailed off as she realized that her parents had no idea about the Order of the Phoenix. "Well, the Headmistress knew about our mission and, well, either we would succeed or all of us would die, so either way there was no reason not to let me remain Head Girl."

"And what would have happened if you'd died?" her mother asked softly. "Would we even have been told?"

Hermione was about to assure her that of course they would have been told… until she remembered her second year, when she'd been Petrified, and the school never told her parents. At the time, she, in her thirteen year old thoughtlessness, had simply been relieved that she would not have to have an argument with her family about whether or not she could go back to Hogwarts.

Now, as an adult, she had to admit that it was awfully strange, and terribly insensitive to the parents of Muggleborns. Were her parents right? Did even the good guys think of Muggles as too silly and inconsequential to be informed of the safety and lives of their magical children?

_I don't_, she thought furiously.

_Do I?_

Would the Order have informed her parents of her death? She was suddenly less than sure. And if the _Death Eaters_ had won… if her parents were lucky, they might receive her mangled body one day, but more likely they would simply never hear from her again.

Her parents stared at each other, correctly interpreting their daughter's silence.

There was really nothing else to be said.

She stayed with her parents for most of the day, because she had not been there in so long that a visit of only a couple hours would be incredibly rude. Yet to sit around, trying wildly to grasp at some subject that could be discussed, was so stressful that she could not shake the feeling that her parents spent the day waiting for her to leave.

She hated herself for the rush of relief she felt as she Apparated out of her parents' house.

It was early, but she did not want to deal with anything else that day. Yet despite her exhaustion, Hermione couldn't fall asleep; her stomach was just too tied up in knots.

With a sigh, Hermione got out of bed and headed to her bathroom. She rummaged through her potions cabinet, only to discover that she was out of sleep potion. That was strange; she thought she'd bought more than enough to last the month.

So Hermione left her bathroom and went to the kitchen. She took out a glass, intending to have a glass of water. When she opened her freezer, however, she caught sight of the bottles of alcohol Penelope had left earlier that week.

A dependency on alcohol was the _last_ thing that she needed just now, Hermione told herself fiercely. She decided that she would give all of it back to Penny when she came over the next day… and then poured herself about the equivalent of three shots of vodka.

Yet it undeniably calmed her anxiety. She went back to bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

--

"So what did you do then?"

It was Sunday, and Hermione was having lunch with Penelope. She had just related the story of the fiasco at her parents' house the day before.

"What can you do, really?" she asked with a helpless little half-smile. "We just sort of made uncomfortable small talk for the rest of the afternoon."

"So they didn't have any more questions about the war?"

Hermione shrugged. "It's in the past, there didn't seem much point in telling them everything, from start to finish, as though it were a book or something."

"Still, they must have been curious."

"With everything that happened, I think they'd rather not know, at least not just then. Knowing the details would only make them feel worse."

"Wow." Penelope shook her head incredulously. "How does that _happen_?"

"I don't know." Hermione forced herself to stop biting her lip. It was really getting quite tattered lately; it looked very unprofessional. "I just never talk to them, I suppose. We aren't involved much in each other's lives."

"I just can't imagine." Penelope shook her head again and took a sip of tea.

"Are you close to your parents?"

Penelope nodded. "Very."

"Aren't you Muggleborn? I mean—with the Basilisk—"

"My parents are a Muggleborn witch and wizard," Penelope explained, "but they don't really have any more contact with it than you do. So I grew up in a completely magical setting, but purebloods still consider me Muggleborn."

Hermione blinked. "I have no idea why, but for some reason I never really considered that scenario."

"Yeah, most people don't," Penelope laughed, "I'm not sure why."

"So do you know your grandparents?"

Penny shrugged and brushed back a lock of hair that had gotten in her eyes. "I see them occasionally. I don't know I ever thought about their being Muggles when I was little. They were just, well, old." She smiled sheepishly.

Hermione laughed briefly. "I know what you mean, actually."

"So." Penelope set down her teacup and sat up suddenly, looking very professional. "I came to answer your questions about astronomy."

Hermione nodded and stood up. "One moment," she said as she headed over to her bookshelf.

Penny twisted in her seat to see where the other woman, who gathered "The Sky Is Not Flat", of course, and also a small pile of parchments.

"What are those?" Penny asked, gesturing to the parchments.

"I made notes." Hermione sounded a little embarrassed; after all, she'd read the book for leisure on a day off from work.

But Penelope just nodded, looking as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "Great. What do you want to start with?"

Hermione shifted through the pages covered with her small script as she went back to the kitchen to sit down across from Penny.

"Well," she began as she sat, "the book went pretty in depth about the structure of the sky, the way that some of the stars we see are displaced only a few years by the speed of light, and some are millions of years, and they're all mixed in together—the sky has never actually been the way we see it--"

"Yes, I know." Penelope smiled good-naturedly, and her eyes twinkled in amusement.

Hermione blushed as she remembered that this was Penelope's job. "Right. Well, Al Phagamma very briefly touched on one phenomenon, when we think we see two stars, but it's actually one, because there's something actually _bending_ the light?"

"Yes, black holes," Penelope confirmed, "their gravity is so strong if light actually enters them—goes past what we call the event horizon—it can't escape the gravity. But outside the event horizon, the gravity just bends it away."

"The event horizon… what exactly is that?"

"Well, in a black hole, it's the point where it's absolutely impossible for any matter to escape. In general, it's a word we give any divider for which anything on the inside—'inside' isn't necessary, we just use it to specify that the sides aren't exchangeable—anyway, anything on the inside can't cross over to the outside, and anyone on the outside can't know what's going on inside. Anyone on the outside can't know because—"

"Because since light can't escape, the lights of any image can't escape, so seeing anything inside is impossible?" Hermione finished.

Penny nodded. "Yes."

"Without magic, the present is kind of like an event horizon," Hermione pondered. She played with her hair for a moment as she considered that, but it did not seem to immediately lead anywhere exciting. "That's_ very_ strong gravity."

Penelope agreed.

"Time works differently depending on how much gravity there is," Hermione continued, "even Muggles have noticed that the higher the gravity, the slower time moves."

"And that the faster one is moving, the slower time moves." Penelope paused. "Do either of those have anything to do with the magical methods of time travel?"

"No." Hermione responded automatically, but right after she said it she scrunched up her face in confusion. After a moment of hesitation, she amended her words. "Well, I don't know. We're back to the problem that we don't have much of a bridge between magic and Muggle science. For all we know, it could be based on the same principles, but as we don't know what those principles _are_…"

She trailed off as she saw the other woman grinning widely.

"What?" Hermione asked. "Does the total incoherence of our entire paradigm of understanding amuse you?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, yes." Penny was fiendishly amused at Hermione's dismay at the inconsistency of the universe. "But I was actually smiling at the thought of how much fun it would be to start hacking at some of this for real."

"It would be so interesting," Hermione sighed wistfully.

Penny raised an eyebrow and leaned over across the table. "What incredible luck, then," she said softly, "that it's our job to figure out just this sort of thing."

Hermione's eyes widened in comprehension, and delight began to tug at the corners of her mouth as well.

--

Hermione was gratified to find the records she requested already on her desk when she entered her lab Monday morning. They were late, and she shouldn't have had to argue about them at all, of course, but at least they were there.

She shrugged off her cloak, then headed over to the pile of files on her desk, perusing the one on top. It was very standard; in the year 1265, a man named Mortimer Atkin killed his future self who had travelled back in time, no contradiction involved. As he had not realized that it was actually his future self that he had killed, the incident had been incorrectly classified for twenty years. It was only properly identified as a time travel related death when the man disappeared in a time turner accident, and a family member recognized the picture of the man he'd accidentally killed as actually being himself. It was all very routine and self-consistent.

Hermione flipped through the other records as she made her way to her desk, trying to find the troublesome ones. As she leafed through the parchments, a small yellow note slipped out from between two pages and drifted to the ground. She frowned and bent over to pick it up.

Her jaw dropped as her eyes fell on the handwriting—it was not simply familiar, it was her own! Hermione remained crouched on the floor as she read the short note several times.

_Dear Hermione _(it said),

_Don't write this letter, nor send it._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione_

"Oh, no _way_," she murmured in astonishment. Still stunned, she picked it up and stood up again. She read it again, and took the last few strides to her desk, dropping the rest of the records heavily on its surface.

"I am _not_ that sadistic," she told the note sternly, waggling her finger at it.

The note just sat there in her hand without any reaction to her words. Hermione was not surprised by this, as sitting there without reaction is generally what small inanimate pieces of paper are apt to do, even when they're spacetime paradoxes.

Hermione sat down at her desk and stared at the little yellow scrap of paper. While the note seemed ludicrous right now, if not flat-out offensive, it was not out of the question that her future self might have sent this note as part of an experiment she was conducting.

It_was_ also possible, she reflected, that it was a prank on the part of some disgruntled employees of the records department, though she was inclined to doubt it. Oh, though difficult, it was certainly not impossible to charm a quill to duplicate her handwriting with enough accuracy that she would recognize it as her own. That wasn't the issue.

It was just that she didn't really think that anybody in the records department was this creative.

Either way, it was a puzzle and also possibly a clue, so she put it in her pocket to discuss with Penny and her colleagues later, and turned her attention back to the Ministry records. Then she put her materials in order for the day, and made her way to the front office, where she and Penelope were planning to speak with Mr. Harris about arranging a joint research project on the relationship between gravity and time travel.

Penelope was already waiting there for her, and she noticed immediately that Hermione was disturbed by something.

"What's wrong?" Penny asked after one look at her friend's face. "Has something happened?"

"I'll explain later." Noting Penelope's alarmed expression, she hastened to assure her that it was a work-related problem, nothing to do with her home life (what little of it she had nowadays).

"Mr Harris is free now," Liatris announced.

Penelope and Hermione thanked her politely, and they went into their boss's office.

"Hello, Hermione, Penelope." Mr Harris looked slightly surprised at seeing the two of them entering his office together, but he folded his hands and looked at them attentively. "What can I do for you?"

Hermione was not nervous about this meeting; Mr Harris was a good boss. Most of the Unspeakables had enjoyed camaraderie with each other, and Mr Harris clearly thought that they received quite enough grief from the (inept) rest of the Ministry. He always tried his best to shield them from the harsh realities of bureaucracy so that they could live in their world of intellectual inquiry.

He was a bit like a very formal father, really, trying to allow his children to enjoy their games uninterrupted by the real world, as if they were innocent children instead of brilliant scientists and playing instead of conducting research.

It wasn't that much of a stretch, really.

"Hermione and I were hoping to collaborate on a project," said Penny.

Mr Harris nodded, and indicated that she should continue.

"We're interested in the connection between high gravity and time distortions," Hermione explained, "I need Penelope's expertise in black holes, high density stars, the path of light, and so on, and she needs my knowledge of the properties of time."

"Okay, sounds fine," Mr Harris said, "the two of you can use Penelope's lab, there's an extra office right next door, if Hermione doesn't mind moving that is?"

"No, not at all!" Hermione squeaked.

"Can you have a description of what methods of research you will use on my desk by this time next week?"

"Oh, yes, definitely," Penelope assured him.

"If you're stuck on something, just give me a report of what you've been trying and what your problem is," he told him.

"I'm sure we'll have plenty by then," Penelope reaffirmed.

"Wonderful!" He flashed them a brilliant smile. "Anything else?"

They shook their heads.

"Well then!" He clapped his hands and rubbed them against each other. "Why don't the two of you get to work!"

They thanked him again and exited the office.

"Well," Penny said as they walked down the hallway to Hermione's office—or rather, her old office—"I expected that to take longer than three minutes, to be honest."

"That_was_ ridiculously easy, wasn't it?" Hermione marvelled.

Penelope helped Hermione move all of her stuff, despite repeated assurances that it wasn't necessary. Several hours later, Hermione put the last of her files in order, and they were ready to begin their new project.

The two women put their heads together and began to hypothesize in earnest.

--

Several weeks later, Hermione noticed an owl waiting for her when she arrived home at her flat around one in the morning. Staying at work into all hours of the night had become routine; her research with Penny was so fascinating that they found themselves pausing for dinner each note only to realize that it was already midnight, and most of the Ministry was deserted.

The owl pecked at her window, clearly impatient, and Hermione realized that it had probably tried to deliver the note earlier than this without luck. She opened her window, and once the owl was out of the darkness she recognized it as Ron's new owl, Cannon. She gave it a treat as she took the letter; it gave her a disgruntled look and hooted once before it flew off.

Hermione opened the letter, and with a guilty flush she realized that it had been written over a week ago. She'd promised to spend time with Ron, then had disappeared. She'd completely forgotten.

_Hi Hermione,_

_I hope you're OK. I miss you. Come by to visit. I've stopped by your _

_flat a few times but you're never there._

_--Ron_

Hermione sighed. Well, it was certainly too late to visit today. She'd just make sure to leave work at a reasonable hour and visit him then to apologize like crazy. After all his effort to maintain their friendship, it was really terrible of her to ignore him like this.

So she begged off work at 5 pm the next day, smiling guilty at Penelope as she explained the situation. She Apparated straight from the Apparation room of the Ministry to right outside of Ron's door. She took a deep breath and knocked.

The door swung open.

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed. He looked happy to see her, though his eyes darted back and forth nervously.

Hermione was too wrapped up in guilt to notice. "Oh, Ron, I'm so sorry," she told him as she paced through the door and towards his living room, "I meant to come by earlier, I've just been so wrapped up in…"

The word 'work' died on her lips, as she looked around the living room and saw Harry and Ginny sitting together on the couch, Harry's arm around her shoulders.

"Oh," Hermione said uncomfortably. "Hi."


End file.
